


The God Invasion

by DangerousCommieSubversive



Series: Our Bright, Disturbing Multiverse [3]
Category: Fantastic Four (Movieverse), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Background Relationships, Conventions, Fandom, Gen, Invasions, Loki Does What He Wants, Parallel Universes, Religious Weirdness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-09
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-15 23:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/532949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DangerousCommieSubversive/pseuds/DangerousCommieSubversive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after stumbling upon an alternate universe in which they exist only as comic book characters, the much-expanded team of Avengers encounters a new threat--the combined might of several of their greatest foes, working to secure a power source that could potentially make them unstoppable. Can they and their other superpowered compatriots work together to protect their world--and ours?</p><p>Features the first priest of Loki in several centuries, a bunch of supervillains who can't <em>stand</em> each other, and Deadpool. There's, uh, more Deadpool than strictly necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Frenemies

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everybody! This here is the prologue to "The God Invasion," which is a sequel to my previous story [An Unplanned Vacation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/527049/chapters/933117). It's probably at least semi-comprehensible even if you haven't read the first story, but it does contain a few original characters, and will probably make more sense if you go back and read "Vacation" first.
> 
> Share and enjoy! ^_^

Amora materialized on the sidewalk next to a garden gate, looked over the house she'd come to, and sneered. She had expected her old rival to live in something closer to opulence, something grand and castle-like—something that actually befitted a scion of the ruling house of Asgard. Instead, Loki apparently dwelled in a clearly expensive but mostly unobtrusive three-story house on the outskirts of Copenhagen, surrounded by a carefully-tended garden and overlooking a park.

After a few more moments of increasing disapproval, she headed down the garden path to the front door, sneered again at the wolf-headed door knocker, and rapped sharply with the rings on her left hand. That didn't get an immediate response, and so she knocked again, and then a third time, and then, finally, found a small button next to the door and pressed it. Presumably it would summon some kind of footman to show her in.

From inside she heard a cry of, “I'm coming already, calm down,” and the sound of pounding feet, and then the door was answered by a young human dressed in a manner that she felt she recognized.

She frowned, peering at him. “Are you Roman?”

The young man yawned and ran a hand through his outlandishly-colored hair. “What? No, I'm _sleepy._ It's not even seven in the morning. What do you want?”

“You are extremely impudent for a servant, but no matter. Go and tell your master that his old friend Amora is here and would like to speak with him.”

The young man's eyes flashed green for a moment, which was interesting, and then he stifled a laugh and said, “He says come in and make yourself at home, and he'll be down in a couple of minutes. He also says do you want breakfast, so think about if you'd like something to eat, but I need to go get some real clothes on first, I can't cook in just a bedsheet. Come on, the parlor is over this way.”

He led her to an attractively appointed room, offered her an armchair, and then hurried off after she'd sat down. She took the time waiting to inspect the books on the shelves, the style of the furniture, and the art that hung on the walls, which seemed for the most part to have painted by one hand. The crown of those was over the fireplace, a portrait of her host in full armor.

When Loki came into the room, still combing back his hair, she didn't stand up, though she did smile pleasantly at him. “Good morning, Loki dear. I see you still think you're your own best feature.”

He dropped sideways into a chair, resting his feet on the table next to it. “And I see you still dress like a cheap showgirl.”

“What did you _say_ to your catamite that made him laugh so?”

“I believe _he_ said, 'Good morning, oh holy of holies, there's some tramp in a leotard here to see you, should I run her off?' and I said, 'No, I know her, let the spiteful little bitch in and offer her breakfast, and I'll be down to yell at her once I'm dressed.'”

She raised an eyebrow, and was about to say something when the young human arrived, more properly dressed now in a shirt and trousers and with what looked like a great many little hoops in his ears. He stopped by Loki's chair, was pulled down by his shirtfront for what Amora felt was an unnecessarily involved kiss, and then as he stood and straightened his shirt he said, “So. What are you having for breakfast?”

“I will be having what I always have, and my dear friend Amora will have...what would you like for breakfast, Amora?”

“Fresh fruit, please. I assume you'll be making a pig of yourself, as always?”

“I have a perfectly healthy appetite, Amora, it's not my fault that you wouldn't know a full meal if it came up and pinched you on your bony rear. A plate of fresh fruit for my dear friend Amora, Bobby. And a pot of coffee for us.”

Amora watched the human head off towards the kitchen and said, “Why, how convenient. He warms the bed _and_ makes the coffee. Is he for sale?”

Loki sighed. “No, Amora. Anyway you wouldn't like him. Or rather he wouldn't like you, and that's the same thing for you, isn't it? Tell me, my dear Enchantress, why have you woken me at this ridiculous hour?”

“Why, Loki dear, can't I just want to visit an old school friend?”

“Don't be childish. I know perfectly well that you don't get up before midday unless you want something.”

They were interrupted again by Bobby entering with mugs of coffee and a small plate of sliced fruit for Amora. As he set her things down she grabbed his wrist, eyes beginning to glow. “Look at me, boy.”

He met her eyes, smiling cheerfully. “Did you want something else? There's tea, I can make you some toast, I have ipecac if you need to purge after eating all this heavy food, will you _stop_ doing that? You're _so_ not my type.”

Amora squinted, eyes still glowing, and then frowned darkly. Loki took a long sip of his coffee. “It won't work, Amora dear. Don't bother.”

She turned to stare at him, releasing Bobby's wrist. “He's a _priest._ And he's certainly not from this world. How did you get him?”

“I don't believe that's any of your business, my dear.”

“Can I go now? If I don't hurry the bacon's going to burn.”

“Go ahead, but don't bring it in. I'll eat with you after our guest has left. We should be done talking soon, won't we, Amora dear?”

Amora curled her lip at him over a slice of apple as Bobby hurried out.

“Anyway,” Loki said brightly, draining his coffee cup the rest of the way, “back to our conversation. What do you want?”

“Well, I've come up with a very interesting new plan to get Thor away from those idiot Avengers, and I thought you might—”

“No, thank you.”

She jumped, nearly upsetting her plate of fruit. “What? But you haven't even—”

“Amora, my angel, what makes you think I would want any part in one of your dreadful plans? Contrary to popular belief, I do rather like my brother, and I've loathed you dearly since we studied together.”

“Hmph.” She sucked the juice from a slice of orange and left the dried rind on the plate. “Well, Loki, my dove, the feeling is entirely mutual, but as a both a fellow sorcerer and an old schoolmate I felt that I should offer you the chance to join me in my triumph.”

“It's adorable that you think this time you'll win. Now get out of my house.”

She squeaked in outrage and flounced out, leaving her plate of fruit half-eaten. Loki shrugged, floating over a piece of apple. “More for me, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up: Hey, there is a sequel! Find how the Avengers have fared in the two years since their accidental side-trip in the first chapter of “The God Invasion,” the exciting new story from the woman who brought you [An Unplanned Vacation](http://archiveofourown.org/works/527049/chapters/933117) and some porn!
> 
>  
> 
> **Useful Explanatory Notes!**
> 
>  
> 
> I absolutely love the idea of Loki and Amora being Mean Girls-style frenemies, all sitting around making cutting remarks at each other while they pretend to be best pals. Also, check it out! It's Shelly's cousin Bobby!
> 
> On casting and continuity: since the events of "Vacation," continuity in this Marvel universe has diverged pretty sharply from the continuity of the actual Marvel Cinematic universe—mainly because hey, look! Knowledge of the future! So this story isn't in canon with anything post The Avengers.
> 
> Other Marvel characters come up in this story, a number of whom have appeared in movies that aren't in the Cinematic canon—Fantastic Four and X-Men characters, specifically. If you're curious, assume that neither of the F4 movies have happened, but some of the events in X-Men, X2, and XMFC have (although Jean is still alive). If you need to picture a character, imagine their movie form/casting. In the case of X-Men characters this still doesn't clear things up, so to be perfectly straightforward, when Magneto appears (and he will appear!) he's Ian McKellan, not Michael Fassbender, and when you see Kitty Pryde, she's as played by Ellen Page (as of the three Kittys, Ellen Page got the most lines).


	2. Dire News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers receive some worrying news from an unexpected (though not entirely surprising) source, and halfway across the world their enemies begin to make invasion plans which are sheer elegance in their simplicity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, follow-up to my note on casting. We get to see Dr. Doom here, and he's the one exception to the "go with the movie casting" rule, because the guy who plays him in the F4 movies is so _dull_. This Doom is much closer to the comics canon than the lightning-shooting Darth Vader ripoff in the movies. The mask doesn't come off, of course, but if you want a voice to go with you might imagine Tom Hardy in _Dark Knight Rises_.

The roster of the Avengers had expanded somewhat since the founder members' brief vacation in another dimension. Armed with the strange foreknowledge that their sojourn had granted them, they had spent the next two years recruiting aggressively. While the top floors of Stark Tower were still used as a secondary headquarters, the operation was now based primarily out of an enormous mansion Tony had renovated and donated to them, and it buzzed with activity at all hours of the day and night. At Pepper's insistence, they had finally even hired a civilian staff, and most phone calls were now answered by a secretary, an airheaded young woman named Susan who was surprisingly competent when she wasn't under any form of mind control (which she was rather prone to—thus, some suspected, the airheadedness).

On the flip side, there had been a corresponding rise in the number of superpowered threats active in the world. Captain America's old foe the Red Skull had resurfaced, for example, along with several different lunatics in capes and a crazy ex of Thor's, and they were only the major problems. It seemed that the world now swarmed with costumed criminals. Even worse was the looming spectre of Thanos, whose coming was also forewarned by the one bizarre comic that had been brought back from the other dimension, but who had not yet shown himself or made any apparent moves.

On this particular day most of the Avengers currently on the on-call rotation were out, dealing with the variety of small issues that now made day-to-day life as a costumed hero tiresome. Susan the secretary was trying, desperately, to sort the most recent stack of charity function invitations by priority when she realized that someone had come in and was waiting at her desk.

Whoever it was coughed politely, and she looked up to see a man who couldn't have been much older than her, if at all. He was wearing a suit with an Andy Warhol pop-art Marilyn t-shirt, his neatly combed hair was dyed a rainbow of colors, and she could count at least five piercings in each ear. She frowned, puzzled. He didn't look like a salesperson, or like he was in trouble. Honestly, he looked like some sort of trendy artist type. “Can I help you, sir?”

He smiled cheerfully at her. “Hi! I'm here to see Black Widow, is she in?”

She blinked. “I'm sorry, sir, all information about current Avengers whereabouts is classified. I can try to call her, though.”

“That would be great, if you could.”

“Who should I say is here?” She reached for the phone, scanning her list of extensions to find Black Widow's number.

“Tell her that Luke's friend is here with a message for dear cousin Anna.”

_Oh. Spy stuff. Isn't he a little young to be a field agent?_ “All right, sir.” She found Black Widow's extension, dialed the phone, and waited. “Hello, Black Widow? ...yes, ma'am, this is Susan at the front desk. ...no, ma'am, it's not an emergency. There's someone here to see you. ...no, ma'am, it's not Director Fury. He says he's...Luke's friend? And he's here with a message for his cousin Anna. ...yes, ma'am, I will. Yes, I understand completely.” She hung up the phone. “She says someone will be here in a minute to bring you upstairs. There are chairs over there if you'd like to sit.”

He beamed. “No thanks. I don't mind standing.”

Barely two minutes later, Black Widow herself came down the stairs, walked over to the front desk, and promptly handcuffed the young man, saying as she did, “Didn't you have blue hair the last time I saw you?”

He shrugged. “I felt like a change. Don't you think the handcuffs are a little excessive?”

“Better safe than sorry. We need to get upstairs, the others are waiting.”

They headed toward the stairs together. Susan stared after them, stack of charity invitations completely forgotten, and then groaned. “Shit. The mansion's going to get attacked again, isn't it?”

 

\--

 

The mansion's main conference room was already occupied by Tony, Bruce, and Dr. Reed Richards, who were gathered around a whiteboard, arguing about some equations. Clint was crouched on the end of the table nearest the scientists, eating an apple, and when Natasha entered with her smiling prisoner he peered at them closely. “Don't I know you? Ta—Widow, don't I know him?”

She nodded grimly as Tony and Bruce realized that other people were in the room with them and turned around to look. Tony jumped. “Holy shit. I know you. Where do I know you from? Didn't you used to have blue hair?”

The prisoner nodded and Bruce said, quietly, “It's Shelly's cousin Bobby. From the other dimension. The one who was, ah—”

“Right, yes, with Loki, I remember now. He didn't come back with us. What's he doing here? Hey, Bobby, what are you doing here? Also, Natasha, handcuffs? Really? I don't think he's going to do anything to us, he looks like one of those art people I'm always seeing at gallery openings.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and took the handcuffs off. “He didn't come back with us because he obviously came back with Loki later. He has a message for us from Loki. I didn't want him wandering off. I've already called the others to come meet us here.”

Bobby grinned, shrugging off his jacket. “I wasn't really planning on—”

“Pardon me.” Reed had finally noticed that he was the only one now looking at the whiteboard. “Did you say that this young man is from another dimension? Really? And he's specifically from the one you visited, how fascinating, please introduce me.”

Tony nodded slowly. “Breath, Reed. He's not going anywhere. Reed, this is Bobby...I'm sorry, I don't remember your last name. Bobby, this is Dr. Reed Richards, he's a physicist specializing in the science of alternate dimensions.”

Reed hurried over and shook Bobby's hand just a little too hard, peering at him excitedly. “I must say, this is very exciting. I've never really had the opportunity to talk at length with anyone from an alternate dimension before, at least not in laboratory conditions. Would you be interested in stepping down to my labs after you've delivered your message so that I can run a few tests?”

Bobby stared at him, looking a little unnerved. “That's not a pickup line I've ever...oh my god you want to dissect me.” More people were coming into the room now, and he ducked behind the person nearest to him. “Please don't let him dissect me oh _hey,_ Thor. How's your _hammer_ hanging?”

Thor frowned, twisting around to see who was speaking, and beside him Steve said, “All right, what's going on here?”

Natasha hauled Bobby out from under Thor's cape. “Hi, Steve. Do you remember Shelly's cousin Bobby, from our vacation a couple of years ago?”

“You mean the one that Loki—wait, is that him? Bobby, how did you get here?”

“Here like this dimension or here like here here?”

“This dimension. Or both, really.”

“Loki brought me, obviously. And I took a cab from my apartment.”

“Why did he bring you? What have you been doing?”

“Oh, I cook, I clean, I paint, I garden, I have a ton of sex, I embarrass major public figures on the Internet...”

“Wait,” said Clint from his perch on the table. “Wait wait wait do you run that blog? The one that started right after we got back? Jack the Giant-Killer?”

Tony grinned. “Oh, man, was that the one with the photos of Justin Hammer with those Vietnamese hookers? That was a good day in the news. Week, really.”

“Thai. They were Thai, and they were actually really nice girls. Hammer was a dick, though.”

“That's it.” Clint spat apple seeds into his hand. “I say we arrest him and turn him over to SHIELD. I bet he can tell us where Loki's hiding out, and I'm pretty sure he's wanted for questioning in a couple of those cases he blogged about.”

“Clint, if we arrest Loki's cabana boy we won't get to find out what the message is.”

“I'm not a cabana boy! Do I look like I'm wearing little hot pants and carrying an umbrella drink? Although I do make a killer mojito.”

“Well, then, what do I call you? Loki's boyfriend? Houseboy, servant, familiar spirit, fuck buddy—”

“Tony!”

“I'm a _priest._ But I think _you,_ Mr. Stark, can call me _whatever_ you like.”

Steve looked Bobby up and down critically. “You don't look like any priest I've ever met.”

“Yeah, well, aren't you a Lutheran or something?” Bobby pulled a comb out of his pocket and started to fix his hair. “Your priests are boring. Anyway, do you guys want this message or not?”

The various Avengers looked at each other, silently debating whether or not to hear him out, until finally Bruce said, “I'm curious as to what Loki could have to say to us. Whatever it is, he doesn't want to tell us in person, which means it's probably not just gloating about something, but if he's showing his hand by sending us this guy then it might actually be important.”

Steve nodded. “Good point, Bruce. All right, Bobby, what does Loki have to say to us?”

“Well...” Bobby sat down on the end of the conference table. “Thor's psycho ex came to visit Loki about a week ago, and by the way, seriously, Thor? I mean, yeah, tits the size of my head and legs like whoa, but I'm so gay I piss rainbows and even _I_ could smell the crazy.”

Thor blushed faintly. “Strong drink may have been involved.”

“God, I _hope_ so, because if you went into that sober then you're way less sexy than I thought. I don't know what she actually wanted, Loki didn't tell me, but she got really weird at me. Grabby bitch. Anyway, the boss says, and this is a direct quote,” and Bobby's head rolled back and his eyes glowed green and he said in Loki's voice, “'Tell Thor that she knows you're a priest, and that she asked where you were from after she got her hands on you.'”

Clint scrambled backwards off the table, reaching for his bow. “What the fuck?”

Bobby's eyes stopped glowing, and he grinned. “Neat trick, right? So, Thor, he said you would know what he meant, which is good, because I totally don't.”

Frowning darkly, Thor walked over to the table, grasped Bobby by the forearms, and lifted him bodily to eye level. He spent a moment peering at the smaller man and then set him back down. “Amora is searching for his homeland.”

Reed, who had been taking notes the entire time, looked up from his notepad. “I see. And this isn't a good thing?”

“No. The otherworld that he is from, that we went to, is a great source of power for people from this plane. My companions, you must remember how you felt when you were there. Healthier. Stronger. More capable.”

The others nodded silently.

“Because we are legends there, we are worshiped, which gives us power, and we heroes are not the only figures in the tales. I recall reading many tales of our enemies, some told with great admiration. Amora may not be...ah, _reasonable,_ but she has skill and cunning, particularly in the realm of travel and exploration, and many friends among our foes to whom she might offer the chance to gain such power as my brother now possesses even with only a single person to worship him. If nothing else she will do it out of spite; there is no love lost between the Enchantress and my brother.”

“Wow, that was quick. Loki said he thought it would take you at least fifteen minutes to come up with an idea. I stood up for you. Which means...ooh, hey, I _won._ _That's_ gonna be fun.”

Thor shot Bobby a dark look before turning back to his companions. “Friends, this is dire news indeed. How shall we answer this new threat?”

The room erupted into conversation which was then suddenly interrupted by the sound of two different phones ringing. Tony grabbed his first, picking up the call and saying, “We should be done in a minute, Pep, come right up to the conference room,” and then hanging up immediately because the other ringing phone was apparently in Bobby's jacket pocket.

Bobby grabbed his jacket and extracted his little smartphone, and his eyes lit up when he saw the caller ID. He answered the phone with an exaggerated flourish. “ _Hey_ there, handsome, I was just thinking about you...yeah, I just told them. ...only took him five minutes, can you believe it? Means I win our bet. ...yeah, he's right here.” He looked up and nodded to Tony. “You want me to put him on?” He held the phone out to Tony. “He wants to talk to you.”

Tony took the phone. “What's your game here, Loki? Why are you tipping us off?”

Loki's voice on the other end of the line said, “I'd ask why you think I have a game, Stark, but I don't really have time for idle banter. I don't like Amora, and I don't want to see her grow in power any more than you do. Besides, her discovery has endangered something of mine, and I'm rather enjoying having a priesthood.”

“Wait, so what you're saying is—”

“What I'm _saying,_ Stark, is that I've sent him to you for protection. I have vital business to attend to, and I won't be able to properly safeguard him from Amora and her friends. Lock him up in your guarded mansion. Keep him safe from the witch and her grasping claws. I'll pick up him when everything is through.”

“Did you tell _him_ about this plan?”

“Of course not. He's absurdly devoted; I'd never have gotten him to leave the house if I'd told him. Which reminds me, Stark, if you let any harm come to my priest I'll shell you out of your armor and gut you like a turtle for soup.”

“Ok, ok, I get it. One more question. Why ask to talk to me? Why not Cap or your brother?”

“Because I _like_ you, Stark. You amuse me. I _don't_ much relish talking to your companions. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to take care of.”

The call clicked off, and Tony lowered the phone. “Man, Bobby, what _is_ it about you and threats of disembowelment? Natasha, you still have those cuffs out?”

The handcuffs hadn't been anywhere in evidence, but Natasha produced them as soon as Tony asked and cuffed Bobby without speaking, ignoring Bobby's shout of, “Hey hey hey what the _hell_ I have to get home!”

“Bobby...whatever your last name is—”

“It's _Clark,_ for fuck's sake.”

“Thank you. Bobby Clark, you're under house arrest. You're confined to the mansion and grounds and within that you're not going anywhere without a guard.”

_“What? Why?_ Shit, did _he_ put you up to this?”

Pepper of course chose that moment to show up, with Bobby still shouting at Tony and Natasha and the others arguing among themselves, Bruce and Reed already making more notes on the second whiteboard. She greeted them quietly, set her briefcase down on a chair, and then said, suddenly, “Oh my god, Simon! What are you doing at the mansion? I hadn't heard that they were redecorating.”

Bobby looked up from where he was struggling against Natasha's firm grip and beamed. “It's my favorite redhead! I'm _supposed_ to be leaving, but apparently I'm getting arrested instead. How've you _been,_ you fabulous spicy art patron, you? Are you coming to my gallery opening next month?”

“Wait, Pep, you _know_ him?”

“Of _course_ I know him, Tony, this is that painter I was telling you about, Simon Clark, I got that piece of his for the living room at the Tower, you know the one.”

“You mean that funky illusion one, the one that looks like a wolf if you look at it sideways? That was _him?_ ”

“ _Trickery Number Four._ That was him. Why are you arresting him?”

“Well, you remember after our, ah, vacation, I told you about how one of our hostesses threatened to gut Loki for messing with her cousin?”

“Of course, but...wait. That's _him_? I thought he had blue hair. Wait, Simon, does that mean.. your grouchy boyfriend is _Loki?_ I thought you said he was a German stage magician.”

“Well, he's _sort of_ German. He was pretending to be German when I met him.”

Steve sighed. “Ok, Bobby—or Simon, whichever one you actually are—”

“Simon's my middle name.”

“—it looks like we're going to have a _lot_ of questions for you while you're here.”

 

\--

 

“Why have you called me here, Enchantress?”

“Calm yourself, Johann.” Amora smiled sinuously across the table at her guest, who pulled at the collar of his uniform and scowled. She had known that the Red Skull would be the first to arrive to her meeting; military men were often frustrating to deal with, but always punctual. “The other guests haven't arrived yet.”

The Skull grumbled something. He was clearly not a man accustomed to waiting, but then, none of the people she'd invited were.

The next to appear was Victor Von Doom, who entered in a swirl of cape and sat without acknowledging her warm greeting. With him came Dr. Samuel Sterns, who had been given some kind of criminal asylum in Latveria. Personally, Amora found him a horrid little man, but he was undeniably intelligent, and would probably be receptive to her plans if she could talk him out of his absurd scientific mindset.

The unrest began, of course, when her next guest arrived and the Red Skull started to his feet. “You—!”

Magneto swept into the room, went straight to Amora, and kissed her on the cheek. “Good evening, my dear. I thought this was meant to be a society affair. I do hope your standards aren't slipping.” His tone was light and cultured, as it always was, but his gaze was locked with the Red Skull's.

“Oh, Erik, do be nice,” and she smiled as she said it, too fond of the man to really scold him. “I know you and Johann have had some disagreements, but you're both my guests here, and I don't want you to spoil my fun.” She'd never really been clear on what their disagreements were, anyway; apparently it was all to do with some silly Midgardian war a few decades ago, but she hadn't looked into the details. “And it'll be _such_ fun, I promise.”

“Of course, my dear.” He sat. “I'm sure that I'll be able to contain myself for the duration if Schmidt agrees to do the same.”

The Red Skull looked as if he was about to argue, but Amora glared at him until he nodded stiffly and sat down again.

Her guests assembled, Amora smiled brightly and twitched her fingers. “Drinks, anyone?” Wine glasses floated from the sideboard to each place, followed closely by a bottle of the finest Midgardian vintage she'd been able to obtain. It didn't hold a candle to the meads and wines of Asgard, of course, but those were rather harder for her to get.

Doom lifted his wineglass with one armored hand, his grip surprisingly delicate, and took a sip through his mask, which was absolutely fascinating to watch. “Enchantress of Asgard, Doom is not summoned lightly. Why have you called?”

“I've discovered something that I think will be of interest to all of you.” Amora took a breath and clapped, summoning an image of Loki's little priest to float in the center of the table and imbuing it with a taste of his essence from her brief contact with him. “Take a look at this young man.”

Her guests peered at the image, and then the Red Skull sneered and said, “Common trash. Why should he be of interest to me?”

“Be patient, Johann. It will all become clear soon.” She clapped again to summon the second image she'd prepared, of her longtime rival in full armor. Giving it a touch of Loki's actual being wasn't difficult; they had, after all, studied magic together. The image of the young human immediately began to emanate hundreds of tendrils of green light, which stretched toward the ghostly Loki and disappeared under his skin.

Now her guests were interested, and the loathsome Dr. Sterns said, “Fascinating. What is he _doing?_ ”

“That, my dear friends, is the power...of love.” They stared at her in some disbelief, and she giggled. “Or rather, of worship; I can't speak to his emotional state. This young man is a priest, a true worshiper of Loki, the first in at least a thousand years. He is feeding Loki a continuous stream of magical power.”

“Don't be absurd,” said the grotesque Dr. Sterns, even as he leaned forward to peer at her images. “How would he be able to do that?”

“It's an extremely esoteric process, Dr. Sterns, and one that I don't think I could properly explain to you at the moment. The _important_ thing is that he's providing power in really ridiculous quantities, when the average worshiper should look more like _this,_ ” and she clapped a third time. In her image, the tendrils of green light coming from the human priest were reduced to a single thread, so thin it was barely visible.

“Ah.” Magneto had leaned forward as well, holding his wineglass. “What causes the boy to...overproduce, as it were? Is he a mutant?”

“Not a bad guess, Erik dear, but no.”

“A demon, then.” Doom's voice echoed hollowly behind his mask.

“No, he's quite human.”

“Has he been enhanced in some way? Genetically engineered, surgically improved, or otherwise operated upon?” Sterns reached forward to touch the image and nearly upset his drink.

“None of those.”

“Then what is it, Enchantress?” Only the Red Skull had not moved to take a closer look. “And what relevance does it have to us? We are all in some way superior to the normal run of mankind, but none of us are gods. Get to the point.”

“He's not of this Earth.” They all turned to stare at her. “In fact he's not of the Nine Realms at all. He is from a different dimension entirely. I met him last week when I was visiting my old friend.” She gestured to the image of Loki in case any of her guests were feeling particularly slow on the uptake. “After I discovered his nature, I managed to track down the world from which Loki apparently extracted him. It's a highly diverting little plane. Would you believe that in the world that this boy comes from, we are _all_ gods? Figures of legend and fancy. The people of that world seethe with worship, free for the taking. I found my visit most invigorating. I even found a shop which was selling icons of us. They had a picture of me on the wall.” _And an uncouth shopkeep who made some_ highly _impudent suggestions._

“I see.” Magneto was nodding now. “And you are suggesting that...”

“I'm suggesting that we invade, Erik dear. Take over. Set up shop, as I believe the phrase goes. Their military forces are laughable, and we could easily establish vacation spots, as it were, from which to soak up power, or handpick especially useful worshipers to provide us with power here.”

“That seems unnecessarily involved.” Dr. Sterns had settled back into his chair. “Why not just snatch the one Loki's got and duplicate him? I'm sure it wouldn't be too hard.”

“He wouldn't be useful to us. He only works for Loki.” Amora sniffed. “Perverse little thing.”

The Red Skull grimaced. “Disgusting. I presume we wouldn't all be required to cull our worshipers from the ranks of prostitutes and perverts.”

“Oh, come now, Schmidt.” Magneto took a sip of his wine and smiled faintly. “Try not to be so disgustingly close-minded.”

“Yes, of course _you_ would defend such filth, you—”

“Gentlemen!” Amora clapped sharply, and the images floating above the table disappeared. “Bickering later. Planning now. Are you with me or not?”

Doom had been mostly silent during the proceedings, but now he leaned forward, slamming his fist down on the table. “Your plan is most ingenious. Doom gives his full approval.” Next to him Dr. Sterns was nodding excitedly—quite a gesture, Amora thought, for a man with that much head to nod.

Magneto raised an eyebrow at Doom's phrasing and then nodded as well. “As do I. It should be very amusing.”

“Excellent!” Amora beamed at them. “And you, Johann?”

They all turned to look at the Red Skull, who made a low growling sound in his throat and then said, “Yes. Fine. I agree, as long as my choices can be taken from the _pure._ ”

Magneto looked like he was going to say something, but Amora cut him off with, “We should be able to arrange that. Now to the real planning. I've called in a specialist to help us with our battle strategy, so we can focus on establishing a more permanent gateway. My magic can only do so much, you know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up: Consultants are called in! How will the Avengers prepare to combat this new threat? Can Reed Richards really be trusted around someone who's actually from another dimension? Will we see the villains at all? Find out in the next earthshaking installment of “The God Invasion!”
> 
> **Useful Explanatory Notes!**
> 
> For those of you who don't recognize him, Dr. Samuel Sterns appeared in _The Incredible Hulk_ —he's Mr. Blue, Bruce's pen pal. He's better known to Hulk fans as the Leader, although in the comics he wasn't originally a scientist, but a janitor.


	3. The World's Biggest Phone Bill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony Stark and his scientist pals (a terrifying rock band if ever there was one) punch a hole in the fabric of time and space so that they can visit an old friend and get some advice.

_The next day..._

 

The sign on the door said, “Baker Consulting,” but the office looked more like a Gypsy tent from a movie. Three of the walls were draped with heavy red curtains, the windows were veiled, and the centerpiece of the room was a low, heavy wooden table instead of a desk. The back wall, however, was lined with bookshelves, at least half of which were filled with comics, and there was still a heavy filing cabinet in one corner, which spoiled the ambiance a little. On top of the filing cabinet was another small shelf, which was filled with Tarot decks, and above it on the wall hung a framed movie poster.

The woman currently occupying the office was short and tired-looking, and was wearing a Captain America logo t-shirt under her suit jacket. She had spread the table with papers, and at the edge next to a manila file folder sat an iPhone with an Iron Man skin and a background of shifting superhero logos. She was making notes on a piece of scrap paper and swearing. “Goddamn studio execs and their refusal to read the actual comics...”

Her phone rang. The number was blocked when she picked it up, and she frowned as she answered. “Hello? Baker Consulting?”

“Hi, Carol, it's me.”

“Oh!” She blinked. “Hi, Mr. Downey, I didn't recognize your—”

“No, no, it's not him. It's me. The other one.”

She froze.

“Carol? You there?”

“Yes! Sorry. H-hi, Tony. Why are...how did you...um, what's the occasion? ...how are you calling me? How'd you get my number?”

“I got your number from Shelly's cousin, Reed did some stuff to my phone. Speaking of which, did you actually know he left with Loki?”

“Of course I knew, Shelly almost had a heart attack, we—wait. Reed? Like Reed Richards?”

“That's the one. Anyway, this is just a quick call, my reception right now is terrible, but there's some major stuff going on here that we may need your help with. You're going to be getting a call from a friend of mine later, he'll give you all the details. Got it?”

“Um, ok, but seriously, what the hell is—”

“Shit. Phone's on the fritz. So: bad stuff. Call later. Maybe see you later. Bye!” He hung up.

Carol stared at her phone in shock and then set it down slowly. “I need coffee. Why don't I already have coffee? I need a _lot_ of coffee.”

Later, when she was in the middle of doing a Tarot reading for one of her regular clients, she felt a strange sensation at the back of her head, and then in the silence of her trance she heard a voice saying, _“Excuse me, are you Carol Baker?”_

She was so startled she almost fell out of her trance, though she managed to keep her composure enough to reply in kind, mentally. _“What the_ hell? _”_

_“Ms. Baker, my name is Stephen Strange. Tony Stark should have called you earlier to warn you that I'd be getting in touch with you.”_

_“Look, can you—oh my god did you say_ Stephen Strange? _You're Dr. Strange? Tony said I'd be getting a call from one of his friends, he didn't say that_ Dr. Strange _was going to be dropping in on my_ brain! _...look, I'm sorry, I'm working right now. Kind of in the middle of something. Can you hang on for ten minutes?”_

_“Your work requires you to be in a trance state? Tony said you were a housesitter.”_

_“That was two years ago, I'm a professional Tarot reader now. And I'm in the middle of a reading. So. Ten minutes?”_

_“Right, of course. I'll wait.”_

She finished the reading as quickly as humanly possible and hustled her client out of the door. “Thank you for your continued patronage, Ms. Lohan. No, really, I _don't_ teach classes, I'm a terrible teacher. See you next month!”

Her client out the door, she double-checked her appointment schedule, turned the sound off on her phone, and settled back into her chair. It was a bit difficult to reattain her trance, but when she had finally calmed herself enough she opened her astral eyes and saw a slightly transparent man standing in the middle of her office. She shook herself mentally and stood up out of her body. “Um...hi. Dr. Strange. I'm not busy any more, I can talk.”

Strange glanced around the office before turning to her. “Isn't the gypsy vibe a bit...ostentatious?”

“Hollywood expects ostentation. Anyway, you're one to talk, Mr. Collar-Pop. What's going on?”

He didn't reply. He had wandered over to the corner and was staring with some fascination at the framed movie poster over the filing cabinet. “How extraordinary. It's me. Tony was telling the truth.”

“Well, of _course_ Tony was telling the truth, why would he lie? I consulted on that one. Made the magic not _completely_ ridiculous, you should be thanking me. It comes out in a few months. Seriously, why are you here?”

“I'm sorry, yes, right. Your world is in grave danger.”

She started to give a sarcastic reply and then stopped, staring. “Wait, what? How? Like, from your world?”

“Yes. Amora the Enchantress—I don't have to explain her, do I? Tony said you should know people already, but I'm not sure if he was exaggerating.” He was now inspecting the selection of Tarot decks with some disapproval.

“No, he's telling the truth, total Marvel Zombie here. Just tell me, I'll stop you if I need any clarification.”

“Ah. Well, Amora the Enchantress and several of her villainous compatriots are planning a large-scale invasion and occupation of this dimension. Apparently it has something to do with some young person Loki took from here a couple of years ago. I'm not terribly familiar with Amora or Loki; apparently they aren't very fond of each other?”

“Oh, shit. Bobby. Is he safe?”

“Bobby?”

“The guy, you ass, the one who left with Loki. He's my girlfriend's cousin. He visits us every couple of months. Is he ok?”

“He's fine, he's under house arrest at the Mansion until the danger is over. He _visits_ you? I thought he was kidnapped.”

“Nope. Actually they sort of eloped, but with an ordainment instead of a wedding. Personally I don't see the appeal, I think Loki's a jerk. But hey. Whatever floats his boat. I'll have to grill him about the Mansion the next time he visits. Anyway, invasion? What do you guys want from me? I'm hardly an expert on military strategy.”

Strange had moved on from the Tarot decks to the bookshelves full of comics, and was reading the titles with interest. “Your knowledge. We wish to hire you as a consultant for dealing with this world.”

“...why the hell not. It is actually my job, and Shelly would kill me if she found out I let her cousin get killed. When do you need me?”

“Tony has assured me that he and Reed and Hank should have at least a temporary gateway set up by tomorrow afternoon, once I can give them coordinates to target. I assume I can use your energy signature?”

“That works. I'll be home, I don't work weekends and I'm on vacation until con.”

“Capital. See you tomorrow.”

 

\--

 

“Why am I here?” Bobby was sitting on a cleared lab table, swinging his feet back and forth. They'd given him a Stark Industries t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants to wear when his suit finally had to be sent off for cleaning, and every few seconds he would inch slightly farther down the table, away from Reed, who was assembling the dimensional gate with Hank Pym. “I thought I wasn't allowed in the labs.”

“You're not.” Tony was at the computer hooked up to their nearly-completed gate, typing rapidly. “But none of us really trust the witch doctor's idea of coordinates, so we need you around as backup to help us target.”

“We'll need a blood sample.” Hank smiled apologetically as he slotted a tiny arc reactor into place at the base of the gate. “Just a little one, though.”

“I guess that's—wait, Dr. Richards isn't going to be taking the sample, is he?”

Hank blinked. “Not if you don't want him—”

“I don't want him anywhere _near_ me until you can _prove_ that he's not going to try to cut me open.”

“Ok, of course, although I can't say I'm sure where you got that idea.” Hank glanced over at Reed. The other man was humming cheerfully as he installed a series of tiny components around the edge of the gate, and didn't appear to have heard anything.

“Oh, come on, Hank, you know what Reed's like.” Tony paused, switched to a different window on the computer, and swore quietly for a moment. “Remember how much he terrified that Ramsay kid when Dr. Grey brought over her students for the tour?”

“I suppose he _does_ come on a little strong...”

“Just a little.”

“So do I get to come with you guys to see Carol?”

“No, Bobby, you don't get to come with us.”

“Why not? It's not like anyone's going to try to kidnap me out of her house.”

“I'm not even going to touch that one. Anyway I don't feel like getting in some kind of slap fight with your diabolical sugar daddy because I put you in danger. He did actually threaten to gut me. Did Shelly ever manage to stab him?”

“No, of course not.”

“That's a shame. Don't touch that.”

 

\--

 

The passage through the dimensional gate was not like any other inter-universal travel they'd experienced. Reed's usual machines tended to make travelers feel like they were being shot out of a gun at a brick wall, and the initial accident that had caused the Avengers' “vacation” into this particular alternate dimension had taken the form of a fairly spectacular (and painful) explosion. The design for this gate, on the other hand, was only half Reed's, and stepping through it mostly felt like stepping through a door, but with a lot of static electricity. The initial visiting team consisted of Tony, because he'd been there before, Dr. Strange, because he was the only real magician the Avengers had access to, and Reed, because he'd insisted. Reed also insisted on going first, clad in a gargantuan space suit despite Tony's explanation that no, really, the air was perfectly breathable.

He stepped through into a smallish but attractively furnished living room and glanced around—the gate had anchored itself into one of the walls, apparently in place of a window. “Fascinating.” He raised one arm to check the chemical detectors in his suit. Just as he'd determined that the air was probably breathable a musical sound caught his attention, and he looked up.

A short woman wandered into the room in a half-closed bathrobe, toweling her hair dry and humming quietly to herself. She didn't appear to have noticed him. He cleared his throat, feeling mildly embarrassed. “Ah—”

Not unreasonably, she screamed.

“Hey, Carol, what—whoa. Um, hello, more of Carol than I was planning on seeing today or ever. Reed, stop being an ass and go change.” Tony stepped through the gate behind him with one hand over his eyes, shoving Reed out of the way.

“The _hell,_ Tony?” Carol pulled her bathrobe shut and snatched her towel off of the floor. “Dr. Strange said— _you_ said you'd be here in the afternoon!”

Strange frowned, looking around the room. “Isn't it afternoon here? I believe Natasha told me that you lived in New York.”

“ _Two years ago!_ This is Los Angeles! It's eleven in the morning here, I just got out of the shower! I _know_ I told you yesterday this was Hollywood.”

“I presumed it was a figure of speech to excuse your atrocious decorative sense.”

“Oh, don't even _start_ with me, Disco Dan. Hi, Tony, it's fucking _wonderful_ to see you again. Give me a minute, I need to get some pants on or something. There's coffee on if you want some.”

Ten minutes later, Reed had been back through the portal briefly to take off his spacesuit and Carol was dressed and fighting to brush her hair into some semblance of order. Once she'd sworn it into a ponytail she turned and gave them a strained smile. “So, who's the third...oh. Um, hi.”

“Carol, this is Dr. Reed Richards. Reed, this is Carol Baker.”

They shook hands, Carol looking him up and down suspiciously. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Richards...but you're not...?”

Reed smiled pleasantly. “I'm sorry, I'm not what?”

She shook herself, looking unnerved. “Um...never mind. Long story. It's very nice to meet you, Dr. Richards.”

“Nice to meet you as well, Ms. Baker.”

“Carol. Please. Just Carol. I can't handle comic book characters being polite to me.” She got herself a cup of coffee. “So Strange told me _nothing_ about what's actually going on here. Amora and friends are...invading? Because of Bobby? _Please_ tell me he didn't take an embarrassing photo of her for his stupid blog, because that is _not_ a good reason to invade.” She stepped into the tiny kitchen as she spoke. “Do you guys want coffee?”

“Coffee would be good, thanks.” Tony took the mug she offered him and sat down on the couch. “Apparently Shelly's cousin...speaking of which, where's she at? Did you two ever get together?”

“The day you left, although how you knew about that I'm not sure I want to know. She's in New York City. She's playing Miss Adelaide in an off-Broadway limited engagement of _Guys and Dolls._ Just tell me what's up. Coffee, Disco? Dr. Richards?”

“Did you know Bobby is apparently a priest of Loki?”

“Yeah. What of it? I don't approve, but that's not the story right now.” She passed a mug of coffee to Dr. Strange, who took a sip with a faintly superior expression.

“So that's not just a title. He's actually supplying Loki with some kind of power, and Thor tells me other people from this universe could do the same thing for any of us. Because we're...gods here?”

“You're fictional, at least. Which raises an interesting theological point that I'm going to have nightmares about later. So Amora and her pals want to invade to use us as a power source so they can kick your asses?”

“Pretty much.”

“Upsetting, but I don't see how I can help. What do you need me for?” She poured a last mug of coffee. “Dr. Richards? Coffee?”

Reed was on the other side of the living room, looking over Carol's bookshelves with some interest. “Yes, please,” he said absently, and as he reached behind him his arm stretched all the way across the room to take the mug from her hand.

Carol froze. Dr. Strange stared. Tony almost dropped his coffee on his lap.

After a moment of stunned silence Carol said, “But I thought you weren't—he said he didn't—Tony, is he Reed Richards or Mr. Fantastic?”

Reed, who hadn't apparently noticed anything unusual happening, said, “Excuse me? Mr. Fantastic? That's awfully flattering, thank you,” and Tony said, “I have _no_ idea what you mean, and that is _exactly_ what we need you for.”

Carol stepped out of the kitchen, watching Reed closely. “Um. Dr. Richards. Have you ever been to space?”

“Well, no.” He smiled at her. “I'd rather like to, but I've never gotten the opportunity.”

“So you've never been bombarded with cosmic rays.”

“No, I don't believe so.”

“Ok.” She sat down slowly. “We need to do an experiment. Right now.”

“But we don't have access to my lab—”

“ _Not_ a lab experiment. A quick practical one.”

“Well, all right.” He set down his coffee on the edge of a shelf. “I'm game.”

“Ok, so. Stay right where you are. Don't move anywhere.”

“All right...”

“Now...” she pointed up to the top corner of the farthest bookshelf from Reed. “You see that book up in the corner there? _Essential Fantastic Four_ , volume one?”

“Yes, I can see it quite well. Your shelves are very tall, it must be very difficult for you to get things down from them.”

“It is, actually. I usually stand on a stool. I need that book right now, though; could you please get it down for me?” He started to move, and she shook her head. “Without moving from that spot. Just...reach up and get the book.”

“Ms. Baker, I'm afraid that's completely—”

“Just give it a shot, ok? Reach up there, without moving from where you're standing, and get that book.”

“All right, if you insist.” He reached for the book, and his arm stretched out impossibly as he plucked it from the shelf. He blinked. “Well. That's new.” Then he looked at the cover of the book in his hand and said, “I'm sorry, is that supposed to be me? What am I _wearing?_ Why is Sue there? Why is that man on fire?”

“Maybe you should sit.” Carol drank the rest of her coffee in one gulp and got up to get another mug.

“I think I will, yes.” Reed sat heavily in the nearest chair and stretched his free arm out to pluck his coffee from the bookshelf without thinking.

“You're familiar with this world. It's your home.” Strange finally sat as well, frowning deeply. “And you know what it knows of us. We want you to consult with us on where Amora and her companions may strike here. If you have any other information, about us or them, that might benefit us, then that would be useful as well.”

Tony shook his head. “Wow. Deja vu. Serious deja vu. Look, Carol, it's basically the same deal as last time except with the possibility of imminent death. So. You game?”

“If I didn't love you so much I swear I'd throw this mug right at your head.”

“I'm so touched. So that's a yes, then?”

“Yes. Asshole.”

“Oh, I love it, it's like I never even left.”

“I didn't miss you.”

“Don't lie, Carol, you know you love having me around. But anyway, the potential deaths and/or abductions of thousands of unsuspecting fans of ours, as perpetrated by Thor's psycho ex and her terrifying posse of evil boyfriends. Any thoughts?”

Now, finally, there was a thump and a crack of ceramic as Carol dropped her coffee mug. The three men all looked up, startled, and saw that her eyes had gone wide. “Oh, _shit._ ”

“What?” Strange set down his coffee. “Have you thought of something?”

“San Diego Comic Con.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up: Research on both sides of the playing field! Will we get to see any exciting new villains? When do the other superheroes show up? Do you really want to argue theology with an actual priest of Loki? Find out in the next breathtaking installment of “The God Invasion!”
> 
> **Useful Explanatory Notes!**
> 
> Oh, Dr. Strange, I love you and your ridiculous collar. The “Ramsay kid” that Tony mentions is of course Doug Ramsay, or Cypher, the mutant with the coolest power ever.


	4. Reconnaissance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heroes and villains alike start making plans and doing research! The X-Men arrive! And yes, ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for...enter Deadpool!

“San Diego Comic Con.”

The villains around the table stared. After a moment Magneto straightened and said, “Do excuse me if I misheard you. San Diego _what?_ ”

“Comic Con.” Taskmaster slapped the projection screen he'd set up with his pointer. It was displaying a massive logo with an eye in the middle. “It's a convention. For comics fans.”

“What _possible_ interest could we have in a comics convention?”

“We're comic book characters.”

There was a resounding silence, and then Amora slowly frowned, brow crinkling. “I hate to have to ask this, Taskmaster dear, but...what's a comic book?”

“Hang on, hang on.” Taskmaster crouched and rummaged in the box he'd brought with him, coming back up with a handful of thin magazines which he slapped down onto the table. “Take a look, gentlemen. And lady. Pass 'em around. In this place you all want to invade, we're not gods. We're fictional. And pretty popular, actually, which I'm guessing is where all that power you were going on about is coming from. Felt a bit of a kick myself when I was doing recon. Anyway, this thing in San Diego is as close as you're going to get to a major confluence of spiritual energy where we're concerned.”

The comics were passed around, and Dr. Sterns began to flip through one eagerly. “This is amazing. Fascinating. How do they know about us?”

Doom was staring darkly at the magazine he held in one gauntleted hand, inasmuch as his expression could be read from his posture. “Doom is not a figure of fun. These people must be reeducated.”

“Well, of _course_ they'll need education, Victor dear.” Amora was pouting down at the comic she held, having paged through it quickly. “They seem to think I'm some sort of...cheap hussy. But we can take care of that _after_ we've taken over.”

“We will institute new courses in the schools.” The Red Skull had already torn his comic in half, and as he spoke he continued to rip the pages into smaller and smaller, but perfectly symmetrical, pieces. “I will not be _mocked_ like this.”

“I think it's all rather funny.” Magneto was smiling indulgently at a two-page spread of the X-Men battling a Sentinel robot. “They actually think that they know us. They're like children. And they seem rather divided on the subject of me.”

“Yeah, well, you're one of the lucky ones. You should see what they say about that Juggernaut guy, there's this cartoon...but anyway.” There was a click as Taskmaster changed slides, so that the new image was the floor plan of a large building. “This here's the San Diego Convention Center. It's got lots of exits, but the thing is packed 24/7 during the con, so if we hit at the main entrance they'll be sitting ducks. Kidnap central or whatever it is you want to do with them. Decent base of operations if you want to set up shop, too.”

“And what is your advice for plans of attack?” The Red Skull had leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the pile of shredded paper, and was examining the floor plan intently.

“Not much. I don't know your moves as well as you do, or, well, I do, but your main opponents will be city cops—and we all know how lucky they are—and overweight nobodies with plastic swords and guns that don't shoot. No contest at all. I do have some advice on backup to bring, though.”

“You don't have tactics to suggest, but you think we'll need backup?”

“Sort of. Not backup per se, but...look, I did my research, and I hate to say it, but the little asshole's a big deal there. I brought him with me, he should be here any second now, he's right behind me, isn't he. Hi, Wade.”

“Hey guys! What's going on in this mysterious chamber of evil plotting?” Deadpool dropped from the ceiling behind Taskmaster, knocking the projection screen down. “You should've called me earlier, I could've brought a keg. Or a stripper in a cake. Or a stripper in a cake _shaped_ like a keg. Or a midget stripper _in_ a keg.”

“She'd drown, Wade.”

“Hey, I never said it was a perfect plan. Just a sexy one.”

Taskmaster sighed. “Amora. Gentlemen. This is Deadpool, world's most dangerous mercenary, my least favorite person, and apparently the absolute favorite guy of every single goddamn person in the shithole you want to invade, which says enough about their taste that you might want to rethink this plan. Are you _sure_ you sent me to the right place?”

“He's just saying that to be funny. We're BFFs.” The masked mercenary slung an arm around Taskmaster's shoulders.

“Yes, we're very certain.” Amora was eyeing Deadpool with some distaste. “ _Why_ do we need him, again?”

“Because as far as I can tell, once we get there he'll be pulling down enough mojo to make me look like I'm moving in slow-motion, he'd found out before I talked to him, and if we don't invite him now he'll find some way to come along anyway and then it'll be an absolute bloodbath. Wade, your fly is down.”

“Ha! These pants don't even have a fly! Sucks to be you!”

“Did you even realize you were _wearing_ pants?”

“I—” Deadpool looked down, nodded sharply, and zipped his fly.

“When is this convention happening?” Dr. Sterns had finally set down his comic. “The prototype gate we sent you through clearly worked, but I haven't quite finished the larger model that we'll need to bring all of us and our people. My, uh, benefactor's entourage is fairly sizeable.” He glanced nervously over at Doom. “And some of the others might have people they want to bring.”

“Five days. Six, if you want to wait until Saturday, it'll be busiest then.” Taskmaster picked up his broken projection screen and began to pack it away. “I've got the floor plans and coordinates on a drive here, we can talk about where you want to land the thing.”

Deadpool had been wandering around the room, examining the furnishings and getting in the personal space of the other people present. Coming up behind Amora, he leaned down over her shoulder and looked down the front of her minidress. “Heeeey, I can see my house from here.”

An armored fist slammed into the mercenary's face, sending him reeling backwards as Doom stood up from the table. “Doom grows weary of your incessant chatter. Come, my Enchantress, we must discuss the proper spells of enthrallment to use on these insolent peons.”

 

\--

 

Representatives from the X-Men arrived the next day in response to Steve's invitation. The official visiting party consisted of Cyclops, Storm, and Beast, but they were also accompanied by a devilish-looking blue man in a ridiculous coat, who greeted Clint at the door with much bear-hugging and slapping of backs. “My old friend Hawkeye! It is so good to see you again!”

“You too, Kurt, how's circus life treating you?”

Steve smiled, greeting the other three visitors politely and then holding out a hand to the blue man. “Hi, I'm Steve Rogers. Scott tells me you're Kurt Wagner?”

“Indeed I am.” The blue man shook hands, smiling toothily.

Clint grinned. “In the Munich Circus we all called him the Amazing Nightcrawler.”

“Yes, that is also a name I use. My friend Scott asked me to come along to act as a bodyguard?”

“Right, yes. We've got a—well, I suppose he's a prisoner. He's a priest of Loki, and he's in rather a lot of danger right now. He's been under guard, but it's been a fairly uneven rotation, and when I mentioned it to Scott on the phone he said you could keep an eye on him.”

Kurt disappeared in a puff of sulfurous smoke and reappeared behind him. “I have skills that are good for that. But will he not be afraid of me? I admit I am sometimes startling.”

At that moment, Bobby's voice came drifting down the stairs. “Ok, so we're finally ending the game of Hot Potato? I actually get to stick with this—holy crap he's _blue!_ ”

“See, I was worried about—”

“Oh my god it's like my birthday!” There was a faint whooshing sound as Bobby hopped onto one of the railings and slid the rest of the way down, which looked deeply undignified in his now-clean suit. “Hi, X-Men guys! Thank you for bringing me a hot blue bodyguard!”

The X-Men stared in disbelief, and then Beast coughed quietly and said, “I feel like I should be offended.”

“Wait, you're _also_ blue! Do I get to keep him too or do you need him?”

Scott shook his head, still staring. “No, I'm afraid we need him.” He turned back to Steve. “ _That's_ a priest of Loki?”

Steve nodded, looking pained. “You've met Loki, right?”

“No, but I've seen him on the news.” Scott paused, thinking about it for a moment. “...ok, yeah, I see your point.”

“The! The priest! Only one. Ok, I'm so sorry, I had a ton of Code Red about an hour ago and my life is apparently in danger so I'm a little overexcited.” Bobby took a deep breath. “Sorry. Very sorry. I like blue people. Hi, are you Nightcrawler?”

Steve and Clint took that as their opportunity to quietly lead the other X-Men away as Kurt stepped forward, cautiously offering a hand. “I am. But please, call me Kurt.”

Bobby shook his hand enthusiastically. “<Nice to meet you, Kurt. I'm Simon.>”

“<Ah, you speak German! What a pleasant surprise. It's a pleasure to meet you as well.>” They began to head down the main hall together. “<You look like no priest I've ever met.>”

“<I'm probably _not_ like any priest you've ever met. You're a Catholic, right? >”

“<Yes, that's right. What kind of a priest are you? Are you one of those modern Wiccans?>”

Bobby shook his head as they turned towards the library. “<No. Like I said, I'm Loki's priest, directly.>”

Kurt hmm'ed thoughtfully. “<That is fascinating. Perhaps you will tell me something about your order.>”

“<Well, it's not really an order yet. It's just me.>”

“<And that's also fascinating. I would like to learn more about that.>”

 

\--

 

The full assembly of the War Council, as Tony insisting on calling it, met in Carol's increasingly cramped living room (where her phone could get signal and her iPad worked). Beast was not present, having stayed in the lab with Reed, Hank, and Bruce to have a conversation that was only vaguely comprehensible to the others. Strange and Steve looked at the bookshelves, Carol got increasingly uncomfortable as she was introduced to Scott, Ororo, and T'Challa, and the latter looked down his nose at her discomfort until as she began to make coffee she was overheard to mutter, “Living room full of supers, might as well just invite Doctor Doom or someone to attack, I'm a huge fucking target here.”

Once coffee had been served and introductions were over, everyone sat down, Carol perched tensely on the chair nearest to the interdimensional portal with a notebook. She had pulled up floor plans and an event schedule for San Diego Comic Con on her iPad, which sat in the middle of the coffee table. “A man matching Electro's description was spotted last night in Paris, trying to light up the Eiffel Tower. Locals in Chicago reported that a man in a cape and a skull mask, carrying a sword, was terrifying random passersby and spent two solid hours talking to a clerk in a comic store before paying for a stack of comics with counterfeit bills and disappearing. Your gallery is doing recon. Do you know who Amora's working with yet? Because whoever it is, they have a lot of pull.”

Everyone looked at Scott, who shook his head. “The Professor's doing what scanning he can, but he's got the flu; we can't put him in Cerebro like that.”

There was a long, tense silence as everyone stared at the convention center floorplans.

Suddenly there was noise, the tinny sound of “You're So Vain” playing through a very small speaker. Everyone jumped except Carol, who frowned, digging her phone out of her pocket. “It's Loki. He _never_ calls me. I don't even know why I have his number.”

Tony nodded. “Put him on speakerphone.”

“Ok.” She picked up the call, turned on speakerphone, and set it down on the table. “Frosty.”

From the phone Loki's voice said, “Idiot.”

“How's tricks?”

“Highly enjoyable. How's your harridan?”

“Talking about kids again.”

“My offer still stands, you know.”

“Stay away from my junk, you creep. What's the occasion? Do I have to tell Shelly you finally got her cousin killed?”

Loki laughed. “No, not at all. I just didn't think I should be left out of your council of war when I have valuable information for you. I presume you have me on speakerphone?”

Steve frowned. “How did you know that we'd be doing this?”

“You're all so terribly predictable, aren't you? It's almost sweet. I know who took Amora up on her offer.”

At this everyone leaned forward towards the phone except Tony, who said, “What's in it for you? Why would you help us?”

“Not out of altruism, that's certain. I have a vested interested in seeing Amora trounced on a regular basis, and I don't much like her friends either. Do you want to know who they are?”

“Hit me.”

“Flirting, Stark? At a time like this?”

T'Challa tapped the phone mouthpiece heavily. “Don't waste our time, Loki.”

“Fine, fine. You spoil all of my fun. Carol, get out your little notebook, I assume you're using the one with the rather fetching picture of that Danvers woman on the cover. For her latest excursion into idiocy Amora has recruited Dr. Doom, Magneto, the Red Skull, and a scientist named Dr. Samuel Sterns. They have retained Taskmaster to advise them on tactics, and have hired a number of small-time powered criminals to assist them in reconnaissance. My sources tell me they've also retained that disgusting Deadpool creature, though for what reason I couldn't quite say. They will be attacking on Saturday. I don't know if this information would be of any use to you, but she also appears to be attempting some kind of romance with Doom, presumably because she needs to feel validated by the attention of semi-intelligent men. Did you get all that, Carol?”

Carol was writing furiously. “Doom, Magneto, Skull, Leader, Taskmaster, Deadpool, other dicks. Got it. ...wait, the tunic comes off? The _armor_ comes off? I can't even, I mean, Doom has sex?”

“If reports are to be believed, yes, quite vigorously.”

“...does he talk in the third person during sex? I mean, I have to know.”

“That I can't tell you.”

“This isn't good.” Steve sat back in his chair, frowning darkly. “Any one of those people would be a handful, but together they're going to be a nightmare. We'll need to go out in force, as many of us as possible.”

“No, Captain, you need the right team.” Loki sounded almost bored. “They all have their weaknesses; your lot don't need to destroy the entire city. Now, to what concerns me.” There was a brief pause. “How is he?”

Nobody needed to ask who. Tony smirked. “You actually worry? About anyone besides yourself?”

“Don't mock me, Stark, it was a serious question.”

“He's fine. Annoying, but fine. Nightcrawler's watching him.” Tony leaned back in his chair and slapped a button on the gate. “Jarvis, what's the Cabana Crew up to right now?”

_“Cabana Crew, sir?”_ said a speaker on the gate.

“You know. Nightcrawler and Bobby.”

_“They are in the library, discussing theology at some length.”_

“Could you patch us through so we can hear them? Also, is 'discussing theology' just a code for talking about Bobby's sex life?”

_“No, sir, they're actually discussing theology. And they're speaking German. Quicksilver is also there, though he is not currently participating in the discussion.”_

“Wow, it's like the set-up for a bad joke. An atheist, a Catholic, and a priest of Loki walk into a bar. There you go, Loki, he's doing ok.”

“Good. Do keep my previous promises in mind.”

“In re a very colorful comparison between me and a turtle. Yeah, I remember, that's why Nightcrawler is with him.”

“Excellent. Goodbye, Avengers. Goodbye, X-men. Goodbye, stupid girl. I'll see you all later.” The phone clicked off.

It rang again a moment later, before anyone had gotten a chance to talk, this time playing “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic.” Looking startled, Carol snatched it up from the table and hurried into the kitchen. “Hey, Bean, what's—what? Why are you coming home, your show's still going for another month. ...oh my god, Shelly, baby, are you all right? Did he hurt you? ...oh, oh thank god. When does your flight get—of course you kicked him in the nuts, I would have too. ...good, I always knew your director was smart. When are you getting in? ...I'll be there, of course I'll be there, I'm not making you take a taxi by yourself like this. ...look, baby, stuff's going on here too. Yeah. Fucking _marvelous_ stuff. I'll tell you when you get here. ...love you too. I'll see you soon, ok?”

She hung up the phone, and Ororo said, “Is something wrong?”

“The fucking _Hood_ attacked last night's performance of _Guys and Dolls_ in the middle of 'Take Back Your Mink'! The only reason my girlfriend isn't in the hospital is because she stomped on his foot in one of her stilettos and then kicked him in the junk!” She stomped back over to her chair, looking furious. “This shit has to stop.”

“Agreed.” Strange nodded and reached forward to take her notebook and look at the list of villains. “We require strategy. What do you know about these people?”

Tony paused, frowning. “Reed was stretchy when he was here. Is there anything similar that might come up with anyone else?”

The others, apart from Strange, gave him a puzzled look, and Steve said, “Excuse me? Stretchy?”

Carol blinked. “There might be some other things...”

“All right, cool. Let's take a look at your comics. I think it's time to do some experiments.”

 

\--

 

“<No, look, it's like this. I don't have any problem with your god or the way he does things. But mine does things a different way. He's for something different.>”

The Mansion library was a popular spot for quiet relaxation and non-scientific intellectual discussions any day, but today it was unusually empty. Most of the Avengers didn't live at the Mansion anyway and were often out, and so Bobby and Kurt had the place mostly to themselves apart from Pietro Maximoff, who was sitting at the next table with his feet up, listening to them with interest. Their theological argument made an excellent show, particularly as they both tended to gesture hugely when they talked. Natasha was watching as well, though the others did not see her tucked away on top of one of the bookshelves.

Kurt shook his head. “<God is not _for_ anything, Bobby. He's God. He _is_ everything.”

“<True for you, but that's _your_ god. >” Bobby was perched on the edge of his seat, sketching wild patterns in the air as he talked. He seemed to be enjoying himself. “<Loki _is_ for something, that's part of the point. Look, you're a circus guy, right? A traveling entertainer. No offense meant, but have you ever stolen something? >”

“<...I may have stolen once or twice.>” Kurt blushed faintly, which turned the skin on his cheeks a deeper shade of blue. “<But only to eat, and I repented of it later and did my penance.>”

“<Right, of course you did, Catholic, but see, _that's_ Loki. Whenever someone steals he's there to help or hinder. >” The younger man leaned forward across the table to tap the lapel of Kurt's gaudy coat. “<He loves you, because you're a showman, and all showmen are a kind of con artist—again, no offense meant, it's just how it goes. He's there for spies and thieves and liars because that's part of human nature, to spy and steal and lie. He's there for artists—we lie _constantly—_ and for anyone who has something to hide. Like everyone here, pretty much. He's for _that._ >”

Natasha had inched forward in her hiding place to hear better, and Pietro got up to move to a seat closer to them as Kurt nodded and said, “<I see. And what are _you_ for, then? >”

“<Me?>” Bobby looked startled by the question.

“<Yes. You. His priest. What is your purpose?>”

There was a pause before the reply. “<I...I'm for him. I serve his needs.>”

“<But you are also lovers.>”

“<Those are needs.>”

Kurt settled back in his chair, tail waving lazily behind him. “<Bobby, I am a man of faith, and I serve the needs of my god, but he does not ask me to, ah...>”

“<Bend over the kitchen table and take a deep breath?>”

That brought on another cobalt blush. “<I would not have put it like that.>”

“<No, but it's totally what you were thinking.>” Bobby smiled wickedly. “<Anyway, think about the Catholic Church. Your god has hundreds, thousands really, of—>”

“<Excuse my interrupting.>” Pietro had finally moved to sit at the table with them, unable to contain his curiosity. “<I have to say, I hope he doesn't _actually_ say it like that. >”

“<Of course not. Don't be ridiculous.>”

“<Ah, good, because that would be unbearably—>”

“<We don't have a table in the kitchen.>” Bobby got a far-off look in his eyes, Kurt blushed even deeper, and Pietro raised an eyebrow. “<The prep island's a good height, though. Now, the _dining_ room table is—I'm sorry, what was I saying? >”

Kurt coughed, looking embarassed. “<My god has thousands of...?>”

“<Right! Wives!>” Bobby slapped his hand down on the table, seeming to snap back to the subject at hand. “<Nuns are Brides of Christ. And monks and your priests don't do it either, at least in theory. If your god was here in body as well as in spirit he'd been swimming in it, only he doesn't really want _anyone_ screwing unless they want to get pregnant. Loki only has _me_ for a priest, and he's all for sex. All kinds of lies and trickery there. And also with us the sex came first, then the religion. It'd be silly to give up having sex with the guy just because I worship him now. >”

Pietro couldn't help himself. “<Out of curiosity, do _you_ ever— >”

“<No.>”

“<What, really? Never at all?>”

“<I'm a very accomodating person. And also working on it. I've won a couple of bets recently, so I've got some plans.>”

“<I see.>” Pietro smirked, enjoying Kurt's growing discomfort as much as the topic of conversation. “<Your god is very lucky to have you, then.>”

Kurt buried his face in his hands. “<This is not the conversation I was hoping to have.>”

“<Shit, Kurt, sorry, I got off-track. Will you tell me what your markings mean?>”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up—gghhhhrrrrrk
> 
> Hey there, sports fans! Wow, check it out, she had a lot of blood, it's all over the place, I am on fire today. Anyway, I'm Deadpool, and I'm here to make things a little more sexy. So! The bump. Right. The bump. Coming up on whatever the hell this story is called, you get to see more of me! And also other people, but they aren't as fun as me. Except Spider-man. I like him. Seriously, though, getting punched in the face by Doom hurt like a bitch, and speaking of Doom, wanna see him get it on? Because I couldn't sleep last night so I took the long way to the kitchens, you know, past Amora's room, in case she was lonely and felt like letting me watch, and I may or may not have eavesdropped on some pretty fun times, which have apparently been written up and posted under the title [First Among Women](http://archiveofourown.org/works/535226)?” Anyway, so if Quicksilver's the fastest guy in the world, does that mean that he sucks in bed? Can he control how fast he is?


	5. Meme Dream Team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So that fan character comes up with a way for everyone to win! Or maybe not. And there's more of me! Deadpool! And that's why you're here, right?

They had been calling various other Avengers into the living room for about an hour, testing to see who developed unexpected new powers, but it was when Reed came through again and spread himself across part of a wall that Carol froze and said, “Oh...oh my god. That's it!”

Strange jumped, took a deep breath, and said, “What's it? Have you finally thought of something?”

“What finally? We've only been doing this for an hour. Anyway, memetics. We need a, a meme dream team. You're the memetic yous.”

This made sense to absolutely nobody, and after a moment of puzzling over it Tony said, “I'm sorry, what? Can you repeat that with less crazy and more explanations?”

Carol sat down heavily in her chair. “Look, you're...you're not _people_ here.” Everyone began to protest and she shook her head. “Or you're not _just_ people. You're ideas, themes, concepts. Ideals. You're not just heroes, you're _forces_. Which makes you, I don't know...nebulous? Amorphous? Anyway we _shape_ you. When you're here you are, at least to some extent, what _we_ expect you to be. Dr. Richards is stretchy because that's what _I_ expect. So what you need, what you _want_ , is a team that will benefit from that, from how we, here, think of you. You need _characters_ that people here love. Not the best fighters, not the smartest planners. This is...it's a fucking popularity contest. Miss Marvel Universe.” She glanced over the list of villains again and suddenly looked horrified. “Oh my god, _that's_ why they hired Deadpool. He's crazy popular here. He'll be a fucking nightmare.”

Scott stared at her. “Deadpool? _Really_?”

“Yeah, I know, right? Deadpool. Everyone loves him. You're going to need at least one person with Deadpool level love going on, which means Spider-man. I'll start writing this down.” She grabbed her notebook and pen.

The others glanced at each other, and then Tony said, “Spider-man? He's your first pick? I mean, Spidey's a good kid, but he's hardly the strongest we've got. Why not me?”

“Spider-man is probably the most popular character in your entire universe. Actually, he's probably one of the all-time best loved superheroes. And you, um, actually can't come.”

“What? Why not?”

“Um. Memetics. We've determined that you guys will become more and more of what people expect you to be, and you, um...” She got up, went over to the bookshelves, and pulled down a comic which she dropped in the middle of the coffee table. Everyone leaned forward to read the title.

_Demon In A Bottle._

Tony looked furious and embarassed by turns, and Carol turned bright red. “A lot of fans still think of you primarily as an alcoholic. But, um, look on the bright side. At least you're not Dr. Pym. He can't come because mostly people think of him as a crazy serial amnesiac who beats his wife.”

“Wait, what? Hank and Janet aren't even married yet, and he's one of the nicest men I know.”

“It all got kind of blown out of proportion. Same with you, honestly, but it hurt his character more.”

“Moving on from Tony's shortcomings,” Strange said, drawing several glares, “who else would be useful in this context?”

Carol put the comic away and sat back down. “Um, I'd say Wolverine, but I don't want him anywhere _near_ my world.”

Scott nodded, suppressing a smirk. “Good call.”

“Steve has to come, and Thor. You too, Your Majesty—”

“In this context please call me T'Challa.”

“Um, thank you. So T'Challa has to come because he'll Batman the place up and we need that.” “I will assume that is a compliment.”

“It is. I promise. As for mutants, definitely you, Scott, but not you, Ororo, because it'll be crowded and weather control would be hazardous. But do you have a student called Kitty Pryde?” Ororo nodded. “We do. Why do you ask?”

“Give her a costume. She'll be helpful."

“What? No, I'm not sending Kitty into this.” Scott frowned. “She's only fifteen, and if you know about her then I'm sure you know that she doesn't have any combat-ready powers."

“In theory. I have a volume of _Astonishing X-Men_ where she grabs a planet-destroying missile and phases it through the core of the Earth. Also, she's got that Spider-man effect going on, people adore her. Natasha's a definite because she's a sexy ninja and they always win unless they're getting it on with Daredevil. Steve, Tony, can you get Agent Coulson for the team?”

“Probably.” Steve leaned forward to read her list so far upside-down. “He's not a superhero, though. Why him?”

“Similar thing. Fan love. I'm pretty sure he'll be able to just form tasers out of thin air if we get him in front of a big enough crowd of fans. I'll think about who else to bring. And you're going to have to anchor this thing somewhere other than my living room, because I'm not driving you to San Diego, unless you're working on a bigger one or something.”

“Would there be a good place for us to land it?”

“Well, I'm on a panel for the Strange movie on Saturday morning, that room is pretty big...”

\--

“All right, Mr. Wilson—”

“Deadpool! I'm working, it's Deadpool, don't take that from me! You don't know me! You don't know my life!”

Dr. Sterns sighed as he pulled the lever on the prototype large-scale interdimensional gate. “All right then. Deadpool. Please step through the gate.”

“Hey, you're not the boss of me.”

“Please. Just do it.” He had been dealing with the lunatic mercenary all day, and his patience was starting to wear a bit thin.

“All right, but just this once. For you. Because your huge skull is a little intimidating.”

Deadpool rolled his neck, which crackled alarmingly, and stepped through the glowing green doorway into the vast, empty front hall of the San Diego Convention Center. The sound of a vacuum cleaner could be heard faintly in the distance, but the place was otherwise deserted. He took a deep breath. “Holy _shit_ I feel good, this is going to make my plans so much oh my god my yellow boxes! Yellow boxes, where are youuuuu?” Panicked, he leaped back through the portal and sighed with relief. “Oh good. Not gone forever. Wait! No! This is bad!”

Ignoring Dr. Sterns' frantic requests that he remain for more testing, the masked mercenary rocketed off down the hall and into the main meeting room, where Taskmaster was bent over the convention center floor plans with the Red Skull and Magneto. None of them looked up when he came in, probably because the Skull and Magneto were arguing at some length, in and out of German.

“Entering at that point would be _entirely_ tactically unsound—”

“Tasky!” Deadpool skidded to a halt. “Emergency! Science emergency! When I go through the thing I lose my stuff!”

“That so, Wade.” Taskmaster didn't turn to look at him. He could practically smell the impending migraine. _Why_ did he take this job?

“Yes! My boxes! My yellow boxes go away, I can't think, I just say things!”

“Wade, that's how you always talk.”

“More, though! All of my thoughts are words, they just come out, I can't think secret evil things! You know how much I like thinking secret evil things!” “Oh, for fuck's sake...”

“No, seriously, this is bad! If I don't have my yellow boxes I can't make diabolical plans and if I can't make diabolical plans then I'll never host my own daytime talk show and then all my work will have been for nothing! Ricki Lake, I've failed you!”

At this point the Red Skull and Magneto had also stopped arguing, and were staring at Deadpool in disbelief. The Skull peered at him and then looked at Taskmaster. “Do we really require this person?”

“Unfortunately yes. Go ahead and shoot him, though, you'll feel better. He'll get over it.”

“Come to think of it, though, apparently everyone over there loves me for my brain anyway and isn't _that_ weird, I bet I could make a good TV show out of that. I bet I could get my own reality show! MTV execs always piss themselves when you wave a sword at them anyway and—ow! What was that for? Aw, shit, and it's a _kneecap_ , those always take _forever_.”

“We're working here. Go polish your katana or something.”

“Ooh, that sounds sexual. I could _go_ for a little katana-polishing right—”

“Wade.” Taskmaster reached for his own sword. “Just go away or you'll be regrowing more than a kneecap.”

“Right, right, Daddy's working, he doesn't love me anymore...” Deadpool wandered off, still talking animatedly to himself as his leg straightened itself out.

Several doors down the hall, Amora and Doom were seated side by side in front of a fireplace.

Amora was holding a book in her lap and pouting attractively. “Victor, dear, I don't think we need to lock down their minds _completely_. If they can't think then they won't be much use as worshipers. Devotion by rote isn't very useful. They need spontaneity.”

“Hm.” Doom pondered this for a moment and then nodded slowly. “In this matter you have more knowledge than me. I have other methods for reaching people's minds. I will defer to your judgment in matter of kind of spell, Amora, but in exchange you must trust me in the matter of magnification. Your magic, my Enchantress, is personal; my is far wider-ranging.”

“I suppose you're right, Victor dear.” Amora's pout disappeared, her lips curling in a conspiratorial smile, and she leaned forward to rest a hand lightly on Doom's arm. “Now, about the _other_ matter we were speaking of—”

_Click_.

“I knew it!”

Amora let out a small shriek and turned to see Deadpool holding up a small object that she recognized vaguely was some kind of communications device. “What are you doing here?”

“I knew you couldn't keep up the 'Doom says' routine full-time! This is totally going up on Youtube. 'Doom in first person'! 'Doom makes it with sexy supervillainess'! Or maybe I should send it to the _Enquirer_. I'll be rich.”

Doom's hand tightened into a fist. “Doom grows weary of your persistent idiocy, small madman. You require chastisement.” He began to stand up.

“Aw, man, you started up again! This was going to make me so famous!”

Amora shook her head, her light touch on his wrist becoming a grab. “Victor dear, we need him! We can't kill him yet.”

“So what were you two crazy kids up to in here? Were you necking? Can I watch? I'll take pictures, work the camera angles, get it out online, we can split the profits thirty-seventy. Man, I bet you'd get a cut on your tongue if you tried to stick it through that little mouth hole. Or, hey, even better, put a shoe on her head first and I'll make you both stars—”

Doom raised his hand and shot a bolt of silver light, which struck Deadpool full in the chest and knocked him backwards into the hall. The door slammed shut as he stood up, and when he tried the knob he found that it had been locked. “Man, nobody wants to let me have any fun today—hey, it's the Notorious Hood! How ya doing, Parker?”

The passing criminal flipped Deadpool off as he limped along the hall. “I'm out of this fucking mission, man. This fucking planet they want us to invade is full of psycho bitches. Did you _see_ what that actress bitch did to me?” He lifted his left foot, which was swathed in bandages. “Stiletto heel! Right on the top of my foot! I think she broke fucking bones, and then I got a knee to the groin!”

“Aw, did the baby get a boo-boo?” Deadpool jabbed at Parker's bandaged foot with one finger, causing the other man to stumble back. “I'm excited! I'm apparently really popular there, even if I do lose my yellow boxes when I go. I think it's going to be fun, I'm gonna get a TV show and everything —”

“Do you ever shut up?”

“No, not really. Don't lie, though, you love it. You love listening to me talk, and so do they.” Parker scowled, looking confused. “What they? If you mean our Douchebags on High, I'm pretty sure they want you to shut up just as much as I do.”

“No, not them, the audience.”

“What audience?"

“Them!” Deadpool turned and pointed to you. “You guys like listening to me talk, don't you? I bet I'm your favorite character in this story, right? Right?”

“The hell are you talking about, whackjob?”

“You should start a campaign, get this turned into the Deadpool Show. Who needs Loki, anyway? I'm way sexier than—” Shut up, Deadpool.

“Hey, you can't talk like that to me, I made you! I'm the only thing you've got going for this story! You'll never work in this town ag—” 

\--

_Wednesday_...

“Whoa. That's just freaky.” Spider-man was perched on the back of an armchair, staring in mingled fascination and horror at Carol's two full shelves of Spider-man comics. “I gotta say, _I_ know I kick butt, but this, this is just too much.” He tugged off a glove, rolled his mask up past his mouth, and began to chew on a fingernail.

“Yeah, don't read those.” Tony swatted his hand gently as he reached for a comic. “They'll just give you a stomach ache. Spoil your dinner.”

“But—”

“Seriously, kid. I had nightmares when I read some of mine. You don't want to.”

The coffee table was supposed to be the center of the tactics and strategy meeting, but had instead been taken over by a vast pile of deli sandwiches. Kitty Pryde, nervous in her new uniform, was seated on the couch with Natasha, who was helping her with her history paper. Thor was chatting genially with Agent Coulson in one corner of the room, and Clint was hunched by the gate in case of emergency. Overcrowding had forced the tacticians into the kitchen, where they stood around the table, staring down at the San Diego Convention Center floor plans.

“Ok, so.” Carol marked a spot on the map and then sat on the counter. “The panel I'm on is in this room here. If you come in at that point, I can introduce you first and then you won't immediately get mobbed.”

T'Challa and Scott shook their heads, and Steve said, “That won't work. I appreciate the offer, Carol, but it's too far from the main hall, and that's probably where they'll strike.”

“We do need you to help evacuate, though.” Scott leaned forward to tap the fire exits on the floor plans. “There are going to be a lot of civilians there, a lot of children especially, and they'll need someone who can explain what's going on. Steve? Do you think Pietro would be up to helping with the evacuation efforts?”

“If I tell him to he will. He'll complain, but he doesn't actually argue with me very much.”

“We will need a strategy for approaching our enemies.” T'Challa produced his copy of their list of villains from a pocket somewhere on his suit. “We have determined that this world will have a bolstering effect on them as well. Carol, as the expert in our appeal here, who apart from the mercenary will pose the greatest threat?”

Without hesitation she said, “Doom. I think he may be the most popular supervillain of your universe, and thank _god_ nobody from DC's started to show up because I'm pretty sure the Joker would actually ascend to a higher plane or something. Anyway, Doom is big, he's had more than one miniseries and everything, people love to watch him be scary. Like, at least a tenth of the con is going to see him and start kowtowing.”

Steve blinked. “That's...”

“Upsetting.” The corners of Scott's mouth tightened. “What about Magneto?”

“He should be...actually he might not be much of a problem. People love him, but in a completely different way. They want him to be a good guy. Everyone likes to be scared of Doom, but Magneto has too much of the sympathy vote going. He's, um, he's actually been a member of the X- Men for a few years now in the comics.”

“Really. That so.”

“Your team, even.”

“Are there others?”

“Wolverine has one.”

“Whose team is Jean on?”

“That's...an excellent question. With a complicated answer. I'm not going to lie to you, so let's 

just move on. If you're willing to trust me on this, you might want to assign Kitty to go for Magneto first. He'll probably be more interested in talking to her than in fighting.”

“Out of the question, but noted.”

“We are off topic.” T'Challa scanned his list again. “The Red Skull. He has in the past been very dangerous. Will he pose a great threat?”

“Probably not. Nobody really loves a Nazi except other Nazis, and Nazis don't come to con. At least not as far as I've noticed. He's probably your weak link, inasmuch as you have any weak links here.”

“Amora?”

“She's got that cheesecake factor going for her, so she might be a problem.”

“Dr. Sterns seems to be primarily acting in a support capacity. Will he be a genuine threat?” “Potentially. If he comes through the gate he'll probably turn into the Leader—that's who he is in the comics—and the Leader has this weird kitsch following. And even if he doesn't come through, he is _a_ super-genius. Same with Taskmaster; if he comes along he might be an issue. Or he might not. Taskmaster has some weird shit going on, it's hard to explain.”

“And the mercenary they have hired will be difficult to handle.”

“He'll be absolutely awful. Collateral damage out the ass, _and_ you'll have to listen to him talk.”

Scott rubbed at his temples. “Yes. I remember.”

Steve had been listening with only one ear as he gazed at the floor plans. “We can't engage them in the main hall, it'll only get people killed. We'll need to get them outside before we can do anything useful. We should probably try to take out Doom first, since he's the biggest threat, and then go after the others.”

“We can't just leave them to terrorize everyone while we take out the big guy.” Attention pulled back to the table, Scott leaned down and began sketching battle positions lightly with a pencil. “We need to split them up, get them individually. Everyone targeting one person would be a waste of energy.”

“If we split up we weaken ourselves. Staying together will keep us safe.”

The two men began to argue, and Carol stared at them for a moment before looking over at T'Challa. “It's like watching dogs fight for pack dominance.”

“It is not dissimilar.” T'Challa pulled the floorplans toward him, quietly took Scott's forgotten pencil, and began to make new marks. “They will argue for a bit more and then agree to my plan, which uses both of their tactics but is more efficient than the one they will come up with together.”

Carol blinked. “Well, all right, then. I'll just...go have a sandwich.”

While the planning meeting had been in session, Shelly had wandered out from the bedroom, yawning and still jet-lagged. She and Clint had started talking about cartoons, and when Carol came over she stood up from the floor and smiled. “Hey, fancy magic lady.”

“Hey yourself, Bean, how's my wonderful crook-stomping girlfriend today? You done with your nap?”

Before Shelly could answer, the gate made a loud “ding” noise—one of Hank's enhancements, to let people know when someone was coming through—and a woman wreathed in light stepped into the living room. Everyone jumped and turned to stare, and then Tony said, “Ok, wow. Pep? What are you doing here?”

Pepper held up a thick manila folder. “Company business, Tony. I have papers I need you to sign, and Reed asked me to drop something off with your friend if I was coming this way. Why is everyone staring?”

“Pep, you're glowing.”

“Don't be ridiculous, Tony, it's not like I _ran_ here—”

“No, actually glowing. Check out your hand.” As Pepper raised her hand and stared at it, looking baffled, Tony turned to Carol. “Carol, is this your fault? By the way, this is my girlfriend and acting CEO, Pepper Potts. Pep, this is Carol and Shelly, I told you about them, you're in their living room.”

“A pleasure to meet you both.” Pepper smiled awkwardly, holding out her glowing hand. “I have a present for you from Dr. Richards, he says it's a dimensional rift detector?”

“Um, th-thank you.” Carol shook hands and took the small device she was offered. She was blushing furiously.

Shelly glanced over at her and then nodded coolly to Pepper. “Nice to meet you, Miss Potts. If you'll excuse us...” She grabbed Carol's arm and hauled her out of the room.

Pepper's glow faded slightly as the two women disappeared down the tiny apartment hall. “What was that about?”

Tony grinned. “I think she likes you. So! Contracts to sign. Let's head back to the Mansion to take care of that.”

“Um...ok then.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys think I should be the main character, right? Right? I'd be an awesome main character! And every week I could have a different whacky problem and then at the end of the episode I solve it! With extreme violence! Or possibly ice cream and liquor, they solve a lot of things. Man, screw this story. I'm gonna go start my own story, with blackjack and hookers. Hookers play a mean hand of blackjack, too, have you ever played blackjack with a hooker? Or checkers? A lot of them are good at checkers. But then, if I keep at it I can probably derail this story completely, and next week shit starts going down, so that's exciting.


	6. San Diego

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah! The party has officially started! Sexy times with Deadpool are go!

“Building the Magic of Dr. Strange” was packed. Every seat was filled, the walls were lined with people, and a few more costumed lunatics had managed to sneak in and sit down in the aisles in blatant violation of the fire code. Carol was perched nervously on the edge of her chair at the end of the table, next to the special effects director and two seats down from Guillermo del Toro, in whose presence she still had to try not to boggle. She wasn't the big name on this panel by a long shot, it was actually the first one she'd ever sat on, and the combination of her anxiety about it and tension relating to the upcoming attack made her feel like she needed to vomit.

A man in a Buddhist Mar-Vell costume approached the microphone to ask his question. “So, um, when you were working on the movie were you pulling from Marvel Knights, or did you try to shoot for more of a Ditko feel?”

Clearly not a question for her, but as the special effects director leaned forward towards his microphone the little device clipped onto her belt began to let out a shrill squeal and pulse red. She coughed, elbowing her neighbour, and stood up slightly to make herself more visible. “Excuse me, I have something important to say.”

Everyone else at the table turned to look at her, puzzled, and the room was shaken by a resounding “BOOM.” Outside the room the crowd noise ceased for a moment, and then roared up again. Carol took another deep breath and grabbed the nearest microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm. I can explain everything.”

 

\--

 

The gate had anchored itself in the center of the teeming main hall, and the Doombots were coming through in force. They cleared a path through the staring congoers, trampling dropped bags and fallen costume pieces as they marched forward. Several lines of them peeled off to head into other halls and secure exits, and then at some silent command they froze in place and said in unison, “Kneel before your new rulers.”

A tall woman dressed as Rule 63 Gambit said, “What movie is this stunt for?” A number of other voices piped up in agreement, demanding to know what was going on and why it wasn't on their programs, and the already-bright space was lit by a cascade of camera flashes.

One of the Doombots looked at her and said, “This is no movie, peon.”

The gate flashed and through it stepped Amora, and a number of jaws nearly hit the floor. She preened. “Good morning, children! If you don't fight this will all be _so_ much easier.”

She strode forward, visibly gaining several inches and some additional bounce in the chest area as she did so, and behind her emerged the Red Skull, Magneto, and Taskmaster. Magneto lifted himself in the air and floated over the line of Doombots to more closely inspect one man's t-shirt. “'Magneto Was Right?' Sir, you have no idea how true that is.”

The man stared at him, and the crowd fell briefly silent as he managed to stammer out, “I'm, uh, I'm, I'm a big fan of yours.”

“Really?” As more eyes turned to him Magneto grew in height, and his cape billowed though no air was moving. He tilted his head to the side as if listening for something and then twitched a finger, and the man he had been speaking to let out an undignified shriek as he was abruptly lifted into the air by his watch arm. He dangled for a moment and then fell to the ground, and Magneto turned with a swirl of his cape and said, “You were right, Amora my dear. This atmosphere is very bracing for an old man.”

Taskmaster had been looking around, puzzled, and as Magneto spoke he broke off from the group and made his way quietly through the crowd toward a fan clutching a signed comic book with his face on the cover.

Amora squealed in delight. “Didn't I tell you? This is wonderful! All right, children, it's time to play 'Who Do You Like Best'!”

The noise level in the hall surged, and then the gate flashed again as Doom stepped through. He didn't even have to take a step; he swelled into massiveness as soon as he took a breath and was suddenly towering over even Magneto and glowing faintly. Throughout the hall a number of cosplayers in green cloaks and face masks fell to their knees with a collective shout that mostly resolved into “We're not worthy!”

“No,” said Doom as he surveyed the crowd and grew another inch. “You are not.”

“Victor, dear, where's that mercenary creature?”

“He is coming.” Security guards were running towards them, and Doom incinerated several with barely a glance. “Come, Amora. We must begin to gather the herd.”

Finally, at the sight of the pile of ash where the security guards had been, someone screamed, and the hall erupted into panic.

 

\--

 

The dimensional rift detector installed on the wall of the Mansion's front hall flashed red and began to shriek, and after a few seconds Jarvis' cool voice filled the Mansion. _“Dimensional rift detected and located. Avengers and guests assigned to current mission, assemble.”_

The next few minutes were a tightly controlled frenzy. Apart from Kitty, all the members of the interdimensional away team were well-accustomed to changing into their uniforms at a moment's notice, and Kitty had been wearing hers since breakfast—it made bathroom trips unpleasant, but she didn't want to hold anyone up. They assembled in the front hall in front of the mass-transit gate the scientists had built; Reed was off to one side, waiting to operate the gate and sulking quietly because he'd been banned from the mission for not actually being an Avenger yet, just a consultant.

Kitty gulped down a deep breath as Reed started up the gate. “Oh my god I don't know if I'm excited or I'm going to puke.”

“I know, isn't it awesome?” Spider-man hopped from foot to foot, fidgeting with his webslingers.

Scott patted Kitty on the shoulder. “You'll be fine. I'll be right here. Just stay near me and focus on protecting civilians.”

“Ok, Professor Summers.”

“Codenames, remember? I'm Cyclops right now, and you're Sprite.”

“Um...ok, Cyclops. ...do I get extra credit for this?”

“We'll work something out.”

“And you won't let my parents know that I was fighting supervillains on the Sabbath instead of staying in and studying like I'm supposed to?”

“If I have to I'll write them a note. Stay focused, kiddo.”

“Once the adrenaline rush hits it gets a lot easier.” Spider-man finished adjusting his slingers as the mass-transit gate shimmered into glowing blue life. “If you want, when we get back I can make matzoh ball soup and we'll go over your chem homework again; that always helps me calm down.”

Kitty smiled anxiously at him. “That sounds really nice.”

As Captain America gave the order and everyone ran for the gate, Scott caught Spider-man's eye just long enough to mouth, _“Keep your hands to yourself.”_

Spider-man hauled up the bottom of his mask long enough to mouth back, _“I have a girlfriend already!”_

And then they hit the gate, and were through, and around them the crowd was screaming.

 

\--

 

The second gate opened at the other end of the main convention hall with a noise like a thunderclap and the heroes emerged, growing and glowing golden as they charged out onto the floor. The noise in the hall died for a split second as the screaming crowd and the invading villains looked up to see who had arrived, and then the noise was deafening as the terrified con-goers burst into cheers.

Thor let out a booming laugh that echoed through the entire building. He had somehow manifested his helmet, and his beard seemed strangely absent. He hefted Mjolnir and flashed a smile at a young woman in a She-Ra costume. She swooned. He grinned. His teeth glinted. “Methinks this feels just like old times!”

He rolled his neck with a resounding crackle, and Amora moved from where she stood over a cowering group of Mass Effect cosplayers with a cry of, “Thor, my love! Join me and we can rule over this pale world together!”

Thor shook his head regretfully and began to twirl the hammer in his hand. “Enchantress...” he dove forward toward her, pulled along by his hammer, “...I say thee _NAY!_ ”

“Well, it seems like that's probably a good place to start things.” Agent Coulson reached into his jacket for his taser and nodded sharply to Steve as a number of people nearby erupted into excited cries about how they'd known he wasn't really dead. “Captain, with your permission...”

Steve nodded and looked back over his shoulder at the team. “Avengers...and guests...attack!”

They charged.

 

\--

 

Some of the fighting had moved outside by the time Deadpool hopped through the gate from Amora's castle, still adjusting his mask and zipping up his fly. He looked around the crowded room and nodded, pleased. “I _like_ it! It's better when it's busy! I do miss my yellow—yowza. It's me. With tits.”

The Lady Deadpool cosplayer in question stopped, stock still, and stared at him, and he got about two feet taller and started glowing.

“Hey, me with tits! Over here! Why have I never thought of that? Female me is almost as hot as female Spider-man and did I say that out loud? Man I miss those yellow boxes. Anyway—hey, baby, get your tits out and I'll let you touch my katana!” He wiggled his eyebrows under his mask.

The Lady Deadpool cosplayer giggled, ponytail bouncing, and pulled up her shirt. “Are you for real?”

“You know, that's an excellent question, sometimes I wonder that myself. Are there more mes?” He reached out and honked one of her breasts distractedly. “We should find more mes. We could start a club! The Deadpool club! It'll be awesome, we can have a theme song and special hats and I'll be president for life.” More Deadpool cosplayers were already drifting over to them—a lot of them, in fact. Deadpool grew another foot and snapped to attention, saluting the crowd of admirers. “Deadpools, fall in! Let's have a me party!”

Black Widow dropped from the ceiling several yards away, locked in combat with several Doombots who were clumsily attempting to evade the energy blasts from her wrist-mounted guns.

“New plan! Better plan! Plan that's more fun!” Deadpool tugged one of his katanas from its sheath, grabbed the nearest Deadpool cosplayer, and shouted, “Hey, Widow! Take your top off!” Several of the other Deadpool cosplayers screamed and ran.

“What?” she shrieked, leaping from the shoulders of one decommissioned Doombot to kick another in the face.

“Tits or this guy gets the fuck out!” He gestured menacingly with his katana at the cosplayer he'd grabbed. “I'll cut his head off, I swear! And then I'll put a little hat on it and make it dance around!”

Nearby, Taskmaster had been deeply absorbed in conversation with a single nervous fan, both apparently oblivious to the fighting going on around them. As Deadpool raised his katana Taskmaster nodded, slipping a trade paperback the fan had handed him into his tunic. “Thanks, kid, you've given me a lot to think about—oh, for fuck's sake, Wade!”

Deadpool flipped him off with the hand holding the katana.

Taskmaster sighed and shook his head. “Look, kid, go find somewhere safe to hide. I think I'm gonna have to break a contract.” With a flick of his wrist he wrapped a rope over the nearest solid overhanging piece of the building, hoisted himself up, and swung towards Deadpool feet-first.

His feet connected solidly with the side of the mercenary's head, knocking him to the side and allowing his hostage to break free and disappear into the crowd. Deadpool recovered himself quickly, drawing his other katana. “All right! Fighting time!” He charged forward. “KATANA-RAMA!”

Behind him, the remaining Deadpool cosplayers, who seemed to look on the whole thing as some kind of performance art, shouted in unison, “CHIMICHANGA!”

“Wow, I think I actually just got an erection. And I said that out loud too. Oh, little yellow boxes, I'll never take you for granted again!”

With the rest of the fight moved outside and the hall being slowly but steadily evacuated, their battle ranged far and wide, over the tops of displays, under tables, between shelves, and occasionally in the rafters. Taskmaster seemed initially outmatched, but he gained ground slowly, until finally he managed another flying kick that sent Deadpool's katanas out of his hands and skittering across the floor.

Deapool reached for his guns and fired, with deadly accuracy.

_Click._

They weren't loaded.

“What? They were _so_ loaded, I loaded them this morning! And then I double-checked them after breakfast! And then I triple-checked them before I left!”

It was me. I unloaded them.

“Oh, you _bitch!_ I'll find you! I know where you live! I'll kill your pet monsters and murder your boyf—”

Time to go, Deadpool.

Taskmaster punched him in the jaw, knocking him over, and then set a boot solidly in the middle of his chest. “Y'know, Wade, I don't think I'm actually into this whole invasion thing. I kinda like these kids.”

 

\--

 

Loki shimmered into view in a corner of the show floor and was mildly surprised to be greeted by the thud of a number of pairs of knees hitting the floor. He looked around and smiled faintly. Apparently casting his spell to target the location in San Diego Comic Con most hospitable to him had dropped him in the middle of what seemed to be some kind of meet-up—he was surrounded by twenty or so young women, and a few young men, dressed as various versions of him. It was a little odd, but he was nothing if not flexible, and apparently they'd been paying enough attention to the commotion around them to understand that it was actually him and not another costumed fan. If he played along with their view of him as some kind of conqueror it would probably make his plans much easier.

He cast a spell around the area to ensure that their conversation was properly audible and nodded shortly to them, noting that he also seemed to have gotten even taller and gained some kind of golden aura. “You may rise.”

His fans rose, shakily—one girl had to be helped to her feet by two others due to the height of the heels on her boots. One attractive, serious-faced young woman with a vast fur cloak and gold beads in her hair stepped to the front of the crowd. “Are you really him?”

“Who else would I be?”

“Point taken.” She looked back over her shoulder. “All right, everyone, this is pretty much what we've all been wanting for like, two years now. Fall in!” The rest of the costumed fans shuffled into a line and stood at some semblance of attention. She turned back to him. “All right, my lord, what can we do for you?”

He looked over the line with some admiration. “You're very organized. It's almost as if you were expecting something like this to happen.”

“We have active imaginations.”

“I see. What kind of assistance are you prepared to provide?”

“Pretty much anything we're capable of, my lord.” She started to blush. “Like, anything. Really.” Behind her a few of the other fans giggled, and he spotted more pink faces.

“Excellent.” He took a look over the show floor—the fighting seemed to have been moved outside, and many of the booths had been abandoned. “In that case, spread out and obtain every comic you can find that features me. Just trade paperbacks, mind you, no singles. And if you see anything else entertaining, bring that too.” They started to move and he held up a hand. “Everyone _except_ you.” He pointed to the woman he'd been speaking with, who blushed harder. Then he paused, pondered the options available to him, and selected another woman, also pleasing to look upon—she was one of the ones who had giggled. “And you. The rest of you, meet me back here in an hour with your plunder.”

The fans not selected scattered, casting looks of naked envy over their shoulders as they went.

“Now. Ladies. If you are amenable, we will adjourn to somewhere more private.”

 

\--

 

Outside the convention center, Magneto lifted a nearby car and hurled it at Cyclops, who currently had his optic blast trained on a line of the ubiquitous Doombots. Too late, he saw the costumed mutant move aside in pursuit of his foe, and the car was instead hurtling towards a terrified child, who had fallen to the ground and was screaming for his mother.

He reached out to stop the car's flight, but before he could muster his powers a glowing girl who could not have been more than sixteen, dressed in the manner of the X-Men, darted forward and ducked, wrapped her arms around the child. Magneto cursed, but then stopped when he saw the car fly _through_ them, to crash harmlessly against a parked SUV.

The girl passed off her charge to an emergency worker and then blanched as she looked up and saw him approaching. “Oh, _crap crap crap._ Prof—um, Cyclops! Help!”

Magneto frowned down at her. “Young lady, what on earth are you doing here? This fight is no place for a child, I thought Scott knew better than that.”

The girl's mouth worked silently for a moment before she stammered, “I, I, apparently I'm a superhero here! And I'm really popular! So they said would I come help because I'm popular and they needed another X-Man to fight you and, I mean, everyone wants to be an X-Man so I said ok. Please don't kill me!”

“Don't be absurd, child, I don't kill fellow mutants. Quite honestly I'd prefer not to kill anyone here, except perhaps that cretin Schmidt.” He shook his head, baffled by his enemy's willingness to bring a child onto the battlefield. “You really think I would hurt you?”

She stared at him, looking confused. “But...I'm an X-Man. You're Magneto. Don't you beat up X-Men? Everyone at school is scared of you.”

At that he winced. Objectively he had always known the truth of what she said, but it wasn't pleasant to have it confirmed. _Out of the mouths of babes, as it were._ “I am beginning to think that Amora got ahead of herself somewhat in this plan, if my foes are bringing in frightened children to counteract me.”

Before the girl could reply there was the sharp report of a gun, and somewhere to his left he heard Cyclops shout, “Kitty!” as a bullet came whistling toward her back.

He raised a hand and stopped the bullet short, and it fell to the ground with a faint clink. The girl shrieked, dropping to the pavement with her hands over her head, and Magneto saw that the shot had been fired by the Red Skull, who was running towards him with Black Panther in hot pursuit. The uniformed Nazi glared at him and stopped just short of impact, eyes blazing. “<You! I always knew you would betray us, cowardly rat of a Jew!>”

Ah, yes. This— _this_ was what he had been waiting for. Not conquest but retribution. He smiled. “ <Perhaps I do not find you so worthy of worship as the foolish children of this world do, Schmidt.>”

Black Panther came to a stop several feet behind the Skull. He assessed the stand-off, met Magneto's eyes, and nodded slowly, holding up both hands. Magneto smiled wider as the Skull raised his gun again and snarled, “<Before I execute you for your betrayal, rat, I have been observing your behaviour, and I must ask.>” He aimed carefully at Magneto's throat. “<...Buchenwald?>”

Magneto saw that the girl X-Man was edging along the ground on her stomach, towards the Skull. He twitched a finger—using his powers was so, _so_ easy in this world—and across the plaza a streetlamp ripped free of the pavement. “ <Actually, no.>”

The girl lunged, wrapping her arms around the Skull's ankles. The Skull shouted in alarm, dropping his gun, and the streetlamp hurtled through the air and twisted around him.

“<Auschwitz.>” Magneto twitched another finger, raising the struggling Nazi into the air a few feet, and the girl X-Man stood and hurried to a safe distance.

“<Traitor! Coward!>”

Black Panther stepped forward, nodding sharply to Magneto. “Excuse me, I believe this is my quarry.”

“Of course. Do carry on.”

Across the street the crowd of evacuees let out a roar, and a forest of fists raised into the air as Black Panther leapt, laced his fingers together into a single fist, and struck.

The crack of cement was resounding, the hole in the ground nearly eight feet deep, and the girl X-Man squeaked in amazement. “Oh...oh my gosh you hit him into the _ground!_ We're going to need a _crane_ to arrest him!”

“Indeed. Excellent work, sir, and thank you. I have been wanting to see something like that happen for some time.” Magneto grinned viciously at Black Panther, feeling enormously invigorated by the sight of the Red Skull frothing with rage and completely immobilized, and then turned to the girl. “Now, young lady, if you'd like to arrest me I promise I'll come quietly. I believe I have some thinking to do.”

As she moved to cuff him there came the sound of an echoing, metallic laugh from across the plaza, and they turned to see Doom lifting Spider-man in one hand and hurling him through the air. Around him lay the fallen shells of Doombots, but the man himself still stood tall, Amora clinging to his arm and laughing shrilly as she let off a bolt of light that caught Thor in the chest and threw him backwards into Black Widow, bowling them both over. Cyclops already lay on the ground, scrabbling desperately for his visor, which had fallen off somehow, and Captain America and Agent Coulson were nowhere to be found.

Doom looked over and met Magneto's eyes, letting out another echoing laugh. “Is your heart not married to conquest, mutant? That is fine. You only leave more power for Doom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my god that absolute bitch! She can't do this to me! I don't get arrested! I just do something whacky and then everyone thinks I'm great! And if I get kicked out of the story now I'll be stuck in bump-reading limbo forever! Do you have any idea how boring it is here? Everything is white and blank and there's no television and if I go too long without watching any _Golden Girls_ reruns I might actually die. For real. You wouldn't like it if I died, would you? You'd miss me. You love me. Oh I'm so alone.


	7. Doom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rassen frassen uppity authors all getting me arrested before the story's even _over_...anyway in this chapter Doom fights. He's a jerk. But it has Agent Coulson in it! And Thanos shows up for two seconds!

Thanos gazed through the mists of space to the world where his prize and his army had been lost and frowned. He had been biding his time, waiting for the right moment to strike, but now...now a number of Earth's petty heroes seemed to have disappeared, as well as several of their nemeses. He looked closer, and found something he had not expected—great rents in the fabric of the universe, gaping open and leading to somewhere other, somewhere dimly colored and chaotic.

For a moment he considered attacking the Earth while its greatest heroes were distracted, but then his curiosity got the better of him. The lure of this new universe was greater than that of one sad planet. He reached for the Space Gem, cursing his lack of the others, and took himself directly to one of the rips. Before the pathetic creature who manned the portal could protest he had stepped through, into what seemed a sea of chaos.

He had barely a moment to take in the scene before him when he noticed one of Earth's heroes—Captain America, he remembered vaguely, this was Captain America—standing at the other end of the room. He began to laugh as the pathetic mortal saw him, but the laugh was choked off when the costumed hero noticed him in turn and leaped, impossibly high even for a human with his enhancements.

The hero's shield struck him full in the face, harder than anything had ever struck him before, and he stumbled back. The human had broken his nose!

Clearly this place was unnatural in the extreme. Unhealthy, even.

Before the star-spangled hero could strike again, Thanos ducked back through the portal and used the Space Gem to return home, and went to go set his nose. Whatever it was that had just happened, it required a great deal of consideration, and perhaps the rethinking of his plans.

 

\--

 

Spider-man hadn't precisely grown taller when he'd gone through the gate. He actually felt a little jealous of the others at first—even Kitty had gotten a height boost—until he tried to sling a web and realized what had happened to him instead.

He'd gotten...thinner. He was thinner, and his arms and legs seemed impossibly long. When he caught sight of his reflection in a window, he saw that the eyes on his mask had expanded hugely, so that they took up almost his entire face. They looked sort of happy. He looked like...like a cartoon character.

It was actually pretty cool. Kids kept cheering for him.

Doom was a nightmare, though. Peter had never fought him before, and couldn't imagine that it was _ever_ any fun. He shot a web and the guy dodged. He leaped and the guy just...wasn't there. He had to spend a ton of time dodging himself, ducking out of the way of energy blasts and immobilizing Doombots with awkwardly-aimed web shots.

Finally, though, it looked like he had an opening. He anchored a web on a streetlamp and swung towards the armored psychopath. “Hey, Darth Vader! Who's your daddy?”

Behind him, somewhere across the street, he heard the voice of some irritated bystander saying, “Ok, there is _no way_ Spider-man could beat Doctor Doom.”

A cold hand closed around his ankle.

“Crap! Miscalculation! I didn't mean that, ok? I'm not trying to insult your dad! I'm sure he's very nice man who just happened to raise an evil psychopath!” He flew through the air at what seemed like lightning speed and hit the side of the building. “Ow! Ok, why do you not appreciate prime backchat? This is, like, my whole thing! You have _no_ sense of humor.”

He could hear Kitty giggling nearby, the noise shrill with anxiety, and he flashed her a thumbs-up before swinging forward again and—hitting a smooth dome of lime green magic and screaming, “Oh, _come on!_ That is _so_ cheating!”

The leotard chick, the one who still hung on Doom's arm like a supermodel on a creepy rich guy, waved at him flirtatiously from behind the barrier she'd erected. “All's fair in love and war, my dear!”

 

\--

 

Amora shrieked with delight. This was so _fun_ , so satisfying. She could feel men's eyes on her, wanting her, worshipping her like the goddess she was. It hardly took a thought to parry the swinging attack of the talkative little wretch that Thor had brought with him, while beside her Doom was fending off attacks from Cyclops and that repulsive Widow woman with an unpracticed ease. Even better, it seemed that her other compatriots had already been taken into custody—it saved her having to deal with them herself, and made her takeover plans much simpler. Now all she had to deal with was dear Victor, and she was fairly certain that crushing his mind wouldn't take very much effort with her heightened powers.

She heard the sharp crack of a firearm, a bullet flew past her ear, and a calm voice behind her said, “Excuse me, ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to cease all magical activity immediately.”

Surprised by the audacity of the phrasing, Amora whipped around and saw that the speaker was a man who had come with Thor and his friends, a plain man in a dark suit who she didn't recognize in the slightest. He wasn't a hero; she didn't even think he had powers. She laughed lightly. “And who are you to ask it of me, little man?”

The man opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak the crowd of evacuated peons across the street from them roared, “ _HE'S PHIL COULSON, AGENT OF SHIELD!_ ”

He nodded. “What they said.”

“Oh, you have admirers, little man. You must be quite remarkable, especially for someone so ordinary to look upon.” She summoned a fascination, intending to bind him to her, reaching out to brush his cheek as if she were simply flirting. “I like remarkable men.”

“Thank you, ma'am, but I'm spoken for.” He stepped back out of her reach.

“Really?” She hid her frown under a seductive smile and reached out with the fascination again. “Who could get the attention of such a remarkable man?”

The crowd chimed in with a variety of suggestions, including Captain America, the United States of America, Hawkeye, and one vocal contingent that would say nothing but “a cellist!”

“Ma'am, if you don't stop trying to use magic on me I'm going to have to take drastic action.”

She stepped toward him. “Try me, remarkable little man.”

“If you insist.”

He pulled a small, rectangular device from his jacket and pointed it at her, and she actually did frown. Was he expecting it to _do_ something? The end of it sparked, but it looked more like a malfunction than anything.

When the prongs hit her in the chest, before she fainted, she was, for a moment, powerfully reminded of Thor.

 

\--

 

Doom stood alone.

With Amora out of the way, he was the last of their band—he did not anticipate any trouble from Dr. Sterns, who was clever but easily cowed, and who already feared him. The wreckage of his machines was displeasing, but they would be easily rebuilt. This world's technology was laughably primitive, but it could be used, and with the fear and awe of these weak people flowing into him he would be unstoppable.

He could feel it as he ripped the visor from Cyclops' face, as he threw Spider-man against a wall, as Amora collapsed beside him. He was, briefly, glad of the fact that one of their foes had taken care of her—she would make an excellent trophy queen, and it would be easier to work around her resistance if she did not think of him as the man who had betrayed her. As he pushed away the suited man who had defeated her he was briefly, inexplicably tempted to shout something about Richards, but bit the urge down; he hadn't thought of his old college rival in years, and didn't see why he should start now.

From the crowd watching him he heard a man yell, “Yeah! Go Doom!”

Standing over the fallen bodies of enemies, allies, and robots, triumphant, he surveyed his new domain.

 

\--

 

Dr. Sterns checked his watch and smiled. “Excellent. They should all be occupied by now...”

This had been the plan all along. His plan! He didn't need the Asgardian woman's absurd fantasies of worshippers and magic—she was clearly severely deluded, and the others were no better, going around encouraging her problems as they did. His so-called benefactor, Doom, was particularly bad, taking up with the woman as if she were sane and able to properly make decisions about relationships. Well, but that would all be easily solved soon enough. He could just turn off the gate, and they'd be stranded in whatever forsaken dimension they'd wanted to irritate, and then he'd be able to devote some decent time to his _own_ projects. World domination was just the start. With this kind of freedom he could create a technological utopia! Under his rule, of course, but a utopia!

Still, the concept of another world was interesting. Perhaps just a _peek_ , before he shut down the portal completely.

He stepped through and felt a strange prickling sensation underneath his nose. He'd grown a mustache! How bizarre. When he raised a hand to feel it, he found that his skin had also turned bright green, although that was less odd—perhaps the atmosphere of this world amplified gamma effects.

The hall where he'd been ordered to anchor the gate was rather a mess at this point, having apparently seen a fair amount of fighting before everything had moved outside. Taskmaster had come through a while back, muttering something about getting reinforcements for an outdoor fight, but he hadn't returned; Sterns had to assume that he'd run off. Mercenaries were never reliable. A few people in absurd costumes still wandered through the room, looking dazed, but he took no notice of them.

He took another step forward, away from the gate, and suddenly heard a voice saying, “Citizen, stand down.”

He turned and found himself face to face with a massive, orange-tipped handgun. The massive handgun was being held by a hand in a massive gauntlet, and the hand was in turn on the end of the arm of a scowling man in gaudy yellow-and-blue riot armor. A visored helmet shaped rather like Magneto's concealed most of his face, and there was a large eagle sculpted onto one shoulder of his costume.

Sterns smiled weakly. “Excuse me, who are you?”

“I am the law.” The man—some sort of police officer, apparently—scowled darkly at him.

“I'm sure there's been some sort of misunderstanding.”

Sterns took a step back, bumped into someone, and turned to stare up into another scowl, this on the face of a man in some sort of stylized bat costume, all in black. The bat-man snarled, “We saw you come through the gate. We know what you are.”

Damn. And he'd been surrounded, too; several other costumed madmen had closed in around him. Well, mostly costumed madmen; to his left was a girl who looked as if she was perhaps twelve or thirteen, dressed in a green-and-yellow outfit that looked vaguely Chinese. Her eyes were milky white, but he assumed that it was due to contacts, since she tracked him just fine. She would probably help him. Little girls were generally soft-hearted. He stepped forward. “Little girl, won't you tell these men that I—”

She executed what he vaguely recalled was called a palm thrust, striking him hard in the solar plexus and knocking the wind out of him. “Back off, evil alien creep!”

As he fell backward he saw the child high-five a man in an enormous red trenchcoat and yellow sunglasses. “Way to go, Toph kid!”

A few minutes later, pinned to the ground by the group of terrifying law enforcement agents, he heard the whoosh of air, and then an accented voice over his head said, “Excellent work, everyone. Hold him like that for a moment longer; I am going to shut down their portal and will be back with you shortly to take him into custody.”

That was clearly absurd, but there was another whooshing sound, and then the hum of the portal Sterns had built suddenly ceased. A third whoosh, and this time he was able to see that the speaker from before was in fact Magneto's infuriating Eurotrash hero son, Mercury or whatever his name was. The white-haired man waved at him pleasantly. “Good afternoon, Dr. Sterns. You've arrived rather late to the party, I was just cleaning up.”

The mad people holding Sterns down stood, but before he could even scramble to his feet he found that he'd been put in shackles. The policeman he'd met first, the one with the eagle, pulled off his helmet and let out a whoop. “That was _awesome!_ Hey, Quicksilver, can I get your autograph before you head?”

 

\--

 

Natasha's frown was getting darker by the minute. She'd _almost_ located the Doom fan who was causing all the trouble—with the crush of people it was hard to see, but she could follow his voice as he babbled, “Seriously, Doom has _so_ got this in the bag, this is what I've _always_ wanted to see, there is _no_ way Spider-man could ever beat him.”

She found him. He was a slightly overweight man of perhaps thirty, with a cheap green cloak and an unfortunate attempt at facial hair. She tapped him on the shoulder. “Step this way, please.”

He frowned down at her and pulled away. “Hell no! I'm watching this! This is awesome!”

One of his friends tugged at his sleeve, bug-eyed. “Dude, I think that's _actually_ Black Widow, she could kill you with her toes!”

“I'll ask you one more time. Step this way and stop talking.”

“Why should I? This is all some kind of publicity stunt, and I wanna see Doom beat the crap out of Spider—”

“Look—” she grabbed his wrist and put him in a joint lock with practiced ease. “You're making this a lot more difficult for us. If you don't come with me and stop talking you're going to be eating through a straw for the next few months.”

“Ow ow ow ok ok!”

She dragged him back through the crowd to where a group of teens dressed like cartoon characters had the rest of Doom's fans safely corralled and left him there.

As she made her way back to the fight Carol bobbed up from a group of evacuees. The short woman looked strained and dusty. “Hey, Natasha. The cops and Quicksilver have the evac pretty well in hand. Anything I can do to help here?”

Natasha shook her head, dislodging several small chips of cement from her hair. “Anything you can think of. This is really difficult, even with all the extra energy. Can you do something to get these people more into it? A power boost on even one of us would be helpful.”

Carol thought for a moment, and then nodded. “I've got something.”

As Natasha walked away, she heard her ally take a breath and then shout, “Hey, everyone! How many of you know the theme song to the old Spider-man cartoon?”

 

\--

 

Kitty was crouched behind a barrier of cars, trying desperately to fix Professor Summers' visor so that it would stay on his face again. Magneto had tried to help, which was still super weird, but he was focused on keeping the cars floating to shield them from flying debris and blasts from Doom, and Professor Summers was seated on the ground with his eyes tight shut and couldn't do anything much besides try to provide encouragement. “It's going to be all right, Kitty, you're doing just fine. You're breathing, right? Keep taking deep breaths, deep slow breaths.”

“Codenames, Professor. You said codenames only.” She glared down at the visor in her hands. It was something to do with the curvature, she was _sure_ of it.

“Right, of course. Sprite. Just stay calm. Magneto, what are they doing? I can hear something.”

Magneto raised one of the cars to peer through and then snorted in disbelief. “They're _singing._ ”

_“What?”_

All three of them fell completely silent and listened, and sure enough, the crowd of evacuees was singing, loudly. _“SPIDER-MAN, SPIDER-MAN, DOES WHATEVER A SPIDER CAN...”_ Unable to help herself, Kitty giggled and scooted over to the edge of the car barrier, ignoring Magneto's scolding.

Spider-man was whooping as he shot bursts of web at Dr. Doom. He'd gotten really big and skinny, and he was glowing brightly gold despite the sunlight. His eyes were _massive._ Doom, on the other hand, had gotten smaller, and was suddenly struggling to dodge as Spider-man swung towards him with a cry of, “Now _that's_ what I'm talking about!”

The other team members were getting to their feet too, slowly, and there was no more flying debris. “Mr. Magneto, I think you can let the cars down and fix Cyclops' visor now! They aren't throwing things anymore!”

Magneto considered it for a moment and then slowly let the cars fall. Fixing the visor was barely a second's work, and then Professor Summers got back to his feet, grinning. “Much better. Stay here with your prisoner, kiddo, I've got some fighting to catch up on. Magneto, if you try anything while I'm going I'll turn you into paste.”

“Rest assured, Scott, I mean the young lady no harm.”

“You better not.” He hurried off.

Thrilled, Kitty edged forward a little more to get a better view of the fight. Now that she was pretty sure that Magneto didn't want to kill her or run away, he was surprisingly good company, although he did keep wanting to talk about Professor Xavier.

Nearby, she watching Spider-man swing into action again, his feet connecting solidly with Doom's shoulder, and Doom stumbled, cursing.

“C'mon, Doomy, that all you've got?” Spider-man landed next to Doom, poked him in the ribs, and then somersaulted over his head when Doom whirled on him.

“Doom will squash you like a bug!”

“Aw, now that's just lazy. I thought you were a scientist! Spiders aren't _bugs_ , man, they're arachnids!” Spider-man dodged an energy blast and got off a good web shot, pinning Doom's feet to the ground. “Am I right, huge crowd of singing people? Arachnids for the win!”

The crowd laughed and whooped, and Spider-man looped a rope of web over the nearest streetlamp and swung, beginning to cocoon Doom in webbing. As the binding creeped up the armored man's body the other heroes converged on the straggler Doombots that had come wandering out from the convention center.

Kitty cheered too, and Magneto shot her a scolding look. “Young lady, hasn't anyone ever told you not to draw attention to yourself on a battlefield?”

She ignored him. He sighed and shook his head as he turned back to watch the end of the battle himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not doing these stupid bumps anym—hey, wow, lots of hot Spider-man action. Ok, I feel better. At least the next chapter is fun, even though I'm not in it, because screw all the heroes, they don't get to win all the time. Not literally screw all the heroes, just figuratively. Well, not all of them literally. Just some of them. One or two of them. Oh, Spider-man. Someday we'll be together. With Bea Arthur and my skeleton girlfriend.


	8. The Con

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wait, weren't the last two chapters about the con? Why is this one called "The Con?" There's something going on, isn't there? There are evil plots going on that I'm not included in! That's...that's so unfair!

Steve and Scott took a final accounting of their triumph in the front hall of the Mansion, after the mess they'd left at the convention center had been cleaned up, autographs had been given, and their portal had been closed. The reckoning came to six apprehensions, one escape (which Natasha assured them had been entirely deliberate), and one hundred and seventy-four decommissioned Doombots, several of which were snapped up by Tony, Reed, and Hank to get taken apart in the labs. They also had to note one defeat without apprehension—Steve wasn't entirely sure who the purple man he'd smashed in the face was, but he had certainly looked like trouble.

 

An additional reckoning totalled at least one hundred photographs of Spider-man with various fans, most of them children, and countless other pictures of the other team members, alone or in groups, being hugged and waved at and generally fawned over by excited convention-goers. Steve was surprised at how many pictures they'd been able to bring back; most of the fans had used their own phones or camera, but Spider-man had turned out, unexpectedly, to be carrying a digital camera and a number of spare memory cards. He even knew some sophisticated tricks for setting it up on pieces of webbing to take photos of himself, which had gotten some interesting (and puzzling) comments from fans. Steve himself was starting to have some suspicions about the younger hero's potential relationship to that freelance photographer at the Bugle.

 

The faint snap of a camera going off from the hall staircase reminded him that there was still something he'd heard at the convention center that concerned him. After Coulson and several other SHIELD agents had left with the prisoners in custody he made his way upstairs to the room that Bobby had been given for the duration of his house arrest with them.

 

The door hung slightly open, but he knocked anyway and heard a faint, “Come on in.”

 

Steve walked in, saw that Kurt was seated on the bed with no shirt on, blushed faintly, and said, “If you're busy I can come back—”

 

“No, no, it's fine.” Bobby waved a hand at him from where he was folded into a chair near the bed with a pad of paper and a pencil. “Will you keep still, Kurt? I'm trying to get your tail in the picture and you keep _moving_ it.”

 

Amusingly enough, it was actually Kurt's tail that twitched in response. “I am sorry. I'm not used to sitting for portraits. Most people do not like to—”

 

“Oh, hush.” Bobby bit his lip as he sketched something in on the paper. “You're gorgeous and I want to draw you. Just hold still. What's up, Cap? How was your fight?”

 

Steve shifted awkwardly. “It, ah, went very well. Everything taken care of. We did find something out that I wanted to talk to you about, though.”

 

“I'm all ears.”

 

“Privately.” He glanced around the room. The walls were papered in drawings. A lot of them were of various Avengers and parts of the Mansion, but at least a third were of Loki. The naked adoration evident in every pencil line of those almost made him wince; he had similar drawings of Peggy, sketchbooks full of them.

 

“Cap, are you hitting on me?” The smaller man raised his eyes from his drawing, saw Steve's expression, and stopped grinning. “Oh, you're actually serious. Kurt, can we have a second? I promise I won't get kidnapped by Dr. Doom while you're gone.”

 

“Of course.” Kurt nodded and disappeared in a cloud of slightly noxious smoke.

 

Steve glanced around for somewhere to sit besides the bed, spotted another chair, and pulled it over to sit in. “You know, Loki was spotted in San Diego in the company of a couple of young women. They apparently spent rather a lot of time together.” He coughed. “In private.”

 

The smaller man shrugged, smiling slightly. “That does sound like him. I'd suspected he was getting laid. Were they cute?”

 

“They were, ah, in costume. As him.”

 

Bobby didn't say anything to that, and his smile didn't go away, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

 

Steve frowned. “Dosn't that bother you at all?”

 

Finally Bobby set aside his pad and pencil. “Doesn't what bother me? He's an energetic guy. Although I _do_ hope he used protection.”

 

That just made Steve's frown deeper. It certainly wasn't the kind of reaction he'd been expecting. Either Loki had the guy really cowed, or he actually didn't care. “But he's not faithful to you.”

 

“So? He's not my boyfriend. He's my god. _I'm_ faithful to _him._ ”

 

“That doesn't seem fair to you.”

 

“Who said the gods were ever fair? _Life_ isn't fair. You should know that, Capsicle.” Bobby unfolded from his chair, stretched, and then flopped gracelessly backward onto the bed. “Anyway, at the end of the day I'm still the one who lives in his house and sleeps in his bed. I'm still the person he eats breakfast with. Sometimes he even cooks. Mostly when he wants fish, but it's not like he's the only one who ever gets to eat.”

 

There were religious issues at work here that Steve was tempted to argue with, but he resisted, instead plunging on to what really concerned him and asking, “Are you ever scared of him?”

 

“What?” The laugh his question drew seemed genuine. “No I'm not scared of him. I love him.”

 

“And you think he loves you? He's not actually very reliable, if what Thor's told me is true, and I'm not going to send you back into a situation where you might be hurt. You're a civilian.”

 

“I don't know for certain. But I do trust him. That's what faith is, right?”

 

Steve sighed. He thought about everything Thor had said about his brother, about what he'd seen with his own eyes and heard from others. “Well, ok. I think you're making a dangerous mistake, but if that's how you feel, I won't keep you here.”

 

“Good.” Bobby scratched at the back of his neck, his t-shirt pulling up slightly to reveal the bottom of a tattoo that apparently went up his spine. “Look, it's sweet that you're worried. I'm actually really touched that you're bothering. But, one, he's actually not abusive, or even _mean_ , and trust me, I know from shitty boyfriends. And two, think about it. I have a rising art career, a successful blog, lots of friends, an apartment in Manhattan that I don't have to pay for, and an _incredibly_ hot guy to come home to. What more could I want?”

 

“Someone normal?”

 

“Normal is for suckers.”

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

The next morning breakfast was interrupted by the shriek of the incursion alarm, and then by Jarvis' oddly faltering voice. _“Sup-supervillain incursssssion in-in-in the front hall. Assemble.”_

 

When the most immediately available heroes arrived at the front hall, they found that the “incursion” was not an attack or an army but Loki, expensively but unobtrusively dressed in civilian clothes and waiting politely only a little way inside. Steve stepped forward, holding up his shield. “What do you want, Loki?”

 

“Excuse me, I'm here to empty out my safety deposit box.” Loki smiled thinly and looked past him. “Hello, Bobby.”

 

Steve blinked and looked to the side, stepping out of the way just in time for Bobby to slide down the banister past him, take a flying leap onto the floor, and kick Loki lightly in the ankle. “Hello yourself, you sorcerous manwhore.”

 

Tony snorted, Kitty giggled from where she stood at the back of the crowd, and Thor let out a roar of laughter as Loki took a step back, managing to maintain a smile while still looking vaguely affronted. “What was that for? Have I done something?”

 

“Cosplayers? Dressed as _you?_ ”

 

“Well, you haven't won that bet yet, and when the opportunity presented itself I—”

 

“Did you get those poor girls pregnant?”

 

“I don't _think_ so, but one of them might have—”

 

Scott excused himself quietly, mouth tight from suppressed laughter, as Bobby whirled dramatically away from Loki and folded his arms over his chest. “If you ever ditch me here again and run off to have kinky cosplay threesomes I'm going to convert.”

 

The smile dropped from Loki's face. “You wouldn't.”

 

“Like hell I wouldn't! I met another sexy blue German and he made some _very_ compelling arguments for Catholicism.”

 

Apparently horrified, Loki scanned the crowd and met Kurt's eye. The blue mutant grinned weakly and waved, and Loki let out a long sigh. “Bobby, you would be miserable as a Catholic. You barely survived Methodism.”

 

“My spite will keep me cheerful.” Bobby had actually started to tap his foot, and Tony couldn't help but raise the faceplate on his helmet and grin. It was like watching a cartoon.

 

“I'm starting to think that I've taught you too well.” The taller man looked up at the crowd of heroes on the stairs. “You see what I have to put up with, Stark? Anyway, thank you for taking care of him. As I'm sure you've noticed, he would probably have gotten himself killed during this unpleasantness if I'd left him by himself.”

 

Tony nodded, still grinning. “No problem, Frosty.”

 

“Don't call me that, Stark. Anyway, come on, Bobby, it's high time we went home.”

 

“I'm still annoyed with you!”

 

“I'm making dinner. I caught the cod myself.”

 

“Ooh! Fresh cod! Ok, I forgive you.” Bobby waved to them. “Bye, everyone. Don't lose my e-mail, Kurt! I want to keep arguing with you!”

 

He reached out to take Loki's hand, and they disappeared abruptly.

 

As soon as they were gone, the crowd on the stairs dispersed, some of them now whooping with the laughter they'd had to suppress. Tony popped the manual release catch on his helmet, pulled it off, and glanced over at Thor. “I gotta say, Thor, it's pretty weird to think that your brother would go for someone so...flakey.”

 

Thor, who was still wheezing with laughter, looked up in surprise and shook his head. “What? No, that is not his...his _type_ at all. My brother prefers people who can keep up with him, or to whom he can teach his tricks. He likes partners in trickery. Otherwise he would get bored.”

 

One of the intercoms set into the wall near the stairs crackled into life, and then Hank Pym's voice came through the speaker. “Tony, it's Hank. Did you need Pym particles for something? I'm missing a canister, and one of the miniature arc reactors has been removed from the smaller gate.”

 

Another intercom clicked on, and this time it was T'Challa's voice. “One of my daggers has been taken from my room. Were you experimenting on it again?”

 

Tony, Steve, and Thor stared at each other, and then Tony bit off a curse. “Oh, that devious little shit.”

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

_Six months ago..._

 

 

 

“You should go visit your dad.”

 

Loki rolled over in the bed, shaking his head as if it would change what he'd just heard. “ _What?_ ”

 

“You should visit your dad.” Bobby shifted, tugging the blankets up to his chin. “You're always grousing about how you wish you could still get Asgard this, Asgard that. You should go talk to your dad, maybe he'll let you come back. You know. Royal pardon.”

 

“First of all, he is _not_ my father, and second of all, I have no reason to believe that he would listen to me.”

 

“Who knows? Dads are weird.” The sentence trailed off into a yawn, and Loki thought the absurd conversation was over, but then the yawn ended, trailing itself into, “Maybe if you put it in an interesting way. ...I'm tired of blue hair, do you think I could pull off rainbow stripes?”

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

_Five months ago..._

 

 

 

Odin looked up from the book he was reading at the sound of someone entering his study, but he did not turn around. “I had always meant to tell you, Loki.”

 

Behind him a chair scraped across the floor, and there was a thump as his visitor sat. “Oh, I'm sure you _meant_ to do any number of—”

 

“After the ceremony, in fact.” He set a piece of ribbon in the book to mark his place and shut it. “It was to be your first project, your own step toward kingship. But you put a stop to that yourself.”

 

There was a pause, and then, “I—”

 

“What do you _want_ , my son?” Now he turned, not frowning but not smiling either. “You have done so much damage. Do you now want things to be as they once were? Do you want to take up your right name and right place and be Loki Odinsson again?”

 

“ _No._ That's impossible.” It was such a vehement refusal that Odin had to resist the urge to wince, but Loki did not look angry. He looked weary, and sad, and had things been as they once were Odin would have embraced him. The silence was long before he said, “But I no longer want to be your enemy.”

 

Odin nodded. “Then, Loki, I ask you again: what do you want?”

 

“Amnesty.” His once-son's eyes glowed with fervency in the unsteady light of the candles. “I cannot be Loki Odinsson, but I would be Loki of Asgard once again.”

 

Another slow nod as he considered the possibilities. “I see. And what makes you think yourself worthy of my forgiveness?”

 

Loki shrugged. “Nothing in particular. I may not be.”

 

“Then how do you—”

 

“Let's make it a wager.”

 

A pause, and then Odin began to laugh quietly. “Now you sound like the man I raised you to be.”

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

_Two weeks before..._

 

 

 

_“Who's at the door, my priest?”_

 

_“It's that awful Amora woman, the one you said you wanted to see. Should I show her in?”_

 

_“Yes. Show her in and offer her some food and I'll be right down. If she tells you to look in her eyes or tries to touch you, let her. We want to pique her interest.”_ Pause. _“Don't let her get too familiar, of course.”_

 

_“Oh, eew, of course not.”_

 

_“And try to resist the urge to tell her that she looks like a prostitute, of course. I'd like to reserve that pleasure for myself.”_

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

This time he did not sneak in. For his triumph Loki refused to skulk like a thief in the night—while he did enjoy a good skulk from time to time, it would be much more entertaining to have all of Asgard bear witness to his return. So he landed himself on the end of the Bifrost, just past the scaffolding where it was being rebuilt.

 

Heimdall regarded him impassively. “The criminal Loki the Trickster. What brings you back to Asgard today?”

 

“I think you know perfectly well why I'm here, Peeping Tom. I wish to speak with the All-Father.”

 

After a moment Heimdall nodded. “Your mount awaits.” And indeed past him waited a fine stallion, saddled and bridled and waiting patiently.

 

Loki smiled pleasantly at him. “You don't approve.”

 

“It is not my place to approve or disapprove of the All-Father's decisions.”

 

The looks of shock on the faces of Asgardian citizens alone made the decision to enter openly entirely worth it. Loki had not ridden a good Asgardian horse in some time, and found that he'd missed the feeling of freedom it gave as he galloped toward the palace, the sack he had brought with him jouncing on the horse's flank. He breezed past the gate guards without a word and stopped short of riding directly into the great hall only because he didn't feel up to coping with a disappointed look from Frigga.

 

In the stables he almost had trouble. The rasp of an unsheathing sword made him turn as he was handing the reins of his horse to a groom, and he greeted Volstagg with the same infuriatingly pleasant smile he'd aimed at Heimdall. “Good afternoon, oh Lion of Asgard.”

 

Volstagg glowered at him. “How dare you show your face in these halls, traitor?”

 

“How dare I do anything, Volstagg? I simply did it.”

 

“You are bound by law, traitor. I will take you to the All-Father myself.”

 

“Oh, good. I do have an audience with him, and I could use an escort. He's still in the great hall, yes? They haven't gone to dinner yet? Oh, yes, of course they haven't or you would already be there.” Loki picked up his sack and brushed past his erstwhile captor, heading for the main corridor.

 

Volstagg looked as if he were about to start shouting again and then stopped, frowning. “You...an audience with the All-Father? You?”

 

“That's what I said, you great dolt. Now come along or you'll miss my show.” He kept his pace and the large warrior hurried after him, looking baffled but clearly too curious to resist.

 

The hall fell silent as he strode in, and then the volume spiked as the courtiers and warriors about his father's throne began to shout. Some called for his immediate arrest, of course, and some—including Sif, Hogun, and Fandral—wanted to kill him there; still more were simply horrified at his presence. Frigga started from her throne for a moment, raising a hand as if she wanted to run to him, but then subsided. None of this disturbed Odin, of course; he was deep in conversation with an ambassador from Vanaheim and did not look up.

 

When his business was concluded, the Vanir ambassador stepped aside and Odin gazed through the parted crowds at Loki. “The criminal Loki the Trickster. What brings you back to Asgard today?”

 

In the back of his mind Loki wondered, briefly, if Odin and Heimdall had discussed this beforehand, but he didn't linger on it. There were more important things at stake. “All-Father, I have come to settle our wager.”

 

This set forth a fresh burst of murmurs from the crowd, but Odin simply nodded as Loki approached the dais. “I see. Then tell me, Loki, of your first task. I challenged you to do a thing that Thor would do, but in your own way. What tale have you for us?”

 

“My brother sets much store by heroics and loves the people of his adopted world, All-Father, and so to emulate him I set out to defeat several villains that plague Midgard.”

 

“And...? That is a thing he would do, yes, but he would charge into battle himself. I see no marks upon you.”

 

“None at all, All-Father. I did not fight them myself. I lured them into an ill-advised plan and then set the heroes of Midgard upon them. Including Thor, actually. It is a tale fit for skalds.”

 

Despite themselves, a number of people in the hall laughed, including Frigga. Odin did not laugh, but he did smile and nod approvingly. “This is well done. And your second task? Have you brought me nine of the marvels of Midgard?”

 

“I have, All-Father.” Loki undid the ties at the top of his sack and set it on the ground, spreading the cloth out as if it were a picnic. “First, a canister of Pym particles, which the heroes Ant-Man and Wasp use to effect great changes in size.”

 

The crowd murmured, pushing forward.

 

“Second, an arc reactor, an item of great power run on an element only found in the laboratories of Tony Stark.”

 

The arc reactor's blue glow lit the other items, and he heard a child gasp in awe.

 

“Third, a dagger of Wakandan vibranium, a substance so powerful it can deflect even the blows of Mjolnir.”

 

This was a great sensation, and he tried not to laugh; the best way to win the hearts of an Aesir crowd was with a legendary weapon.

 

“Fourth, a sample of the blood of Captain America, in which can be found the only traces of a serum that makes plain men mighty and mighty men gods. Fifth, a copy of the Book of the Vishanti, and I won't even tell you how difficult that one was to get. Sixth, a copy of its counterpart, the Darkhold. Together, and in the hands of the right sorcerer, these books are unstoppable. Seventh, an amulet blessed by the king of Atlantis. Eighth, the ten rings of the Mandarin, with which he wields a variety of dangerous powers. Or did wield; he was most difficult to defeat, but I bested him.” He paused to give his final discovery sufficient weight. “And ninth. This is a Twinkie.”

 

At this even Odin leaned forward on his throne. “And what does it do?”

 

“The Midgardians say it is a food. I have brought it to you because it is, so far, the only item I have encountered which is _entirely_ inedible. Oh, yes, and from my recent excursion into another plane of existence I brought you this.” Loki pulled the surprise from his cloak and tossed it to Odin.

 

The All-Father caught the item and stared down at it. “Loki, what in all the Nine Realms is this?”

 

“It's an action figure. A children's toy.”

 

“In my likeness.”

 

“Yes, All-Father. As you say.”

 

There was a long silence, and then the All-Father began to laugh uproariously. “You have done well, Loki!”

 

Loki swept a low bow, smiling. “And my forfeit, as per the terms of our wager?”

 

“Your amnesty is granted.” The crowd began to roar, but the All-Father's voice cut through the noise. “Loki, you are pardoned of all your crimes and are once more a citizen of Asgard, with all the rights and privileges that entails.” The noise died down, and Odin leaned forward to gaze down at what Loki had brought and said, “Although I do still have one question. You did not obtain all of these yourself, did you?”

 

“No, not all of them. Some were stolen for me by a mortal champion, as is entirely traditional. I insinuated him into the stronghold of the Avengers to get them for me, and gave him a few gifts to help him in his efforts.”

 

“A champion?” Odin frowned momentarily. “The small one? With the colored hair and the jewelry?”

 

“That one, yes. The Lokkaruni.”

 

“He does not seem like a champion.”

 

“Looks can be deceiving, All-Father.”

 

Frigga was watching him with interest from her throne beside Odin's. “Lokkaruni? My son, I would like to have words with this young man.”

 

“Only if you promise to return him to me intact, Mother.”

 

“Oh, hush, Loki.” She smiled, and it seemed that the great hall was suddenly was a more homely place. “I haven't dismembered a suitor of yours in centuries, and that once was a misunderstanding. Freya and I did put her back together afterwards. But come, my son. Will you feast with us tonight?”

 

“Mother, it would be my great honor.”

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Tony had the accounting up on a tablet and was ticking items off one by one. “So that's three thefts from the labs total—one from me, one from Hank, one from Bruce. A theft from Panther's rooms and by the way, T'Challa, how _did_ the little shit manage to get past you?”

 

Everyone turned to look at T'Challa, who, if he hadn't been wearing his mask, might have almost looked embarassed. “I had company.”

 

“All right, so, T'Challa got burgled and laid all in one night, go him. We're also missing a package of Twinkies, there are some in the kitchen but these were from Clint's private stash that we all pretend we don't know about. I have a surveillance trace from Jarvis that says someone was teleporting in and out of those places in the night, but something messed with his sensors so he couldn't raise the alarm. Plus I got a call from the witch doctor, he says someone broke into his townhouse with magic, nothing stolen but someone was tampering with his books.” Tony looked over the edge of the tablet at Carol and Shelly, who were fidgeting nervously next to the hastily-repaired portal. “Ladies? Anything missing on your end of things?”

 

Carol nodded. “Nothing of ours, but when they did the clean-up at the convention center there'd apparently been a rash of thefts of Loki-related merchandise. Mostly comics, but there were toys missing too, art pieces, things like that.”

 

“Large-scale theft of masturbation aids for someone self-obsessed. Got it.” They all stared at him. He blinked. “What? I know from self-obsessed. So Loki and his goddamn teleporting cabana boy conned us and conned us good. Anyway, ladies, you've helped save our asses once again, and this time we're actually in a position to pay you back. Anything we can do for you?”

 

The two women looked at each other and then nodded, and Shelly said, “There is something that we do need a hand with.”

 

“Sounds good. What'll it be?”

 

“Um, actually we need to talk to Clint.” Shelly blushed. “And Natasha. Clint and Natasha, we need to talk to them.”

 

“Privately,” Carol added.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was so worth waiting for. I like endings when everybody loses. Except Loki. I guess he won. Hey, I wonder if that priest guy would do my portrait. Every art gallery in the world needs a picture of me. _Nude Mercenary With Awesome Katanas And Dead Body._ Something like that. It would be a gift to the art world. From me. Naked me. The world needs more naked me. Also I guess I'm supposed to tell you to come back next week for the epilogue and deleted scenes. And I have this note here that says “Lokkaruni: mangled Old Norse that can be translated as 'priest/companion/husband/intimate of Loki', mangled from the Old Norse 'Helruni', which is the same deal but for Hela.” Which is interesting, I guess.


	9. Epilogue: A Little More To Worry About

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so there's still more of this story! Man, how much can she write? Is she a fanfiction robot? That could be cool.

Jack the Giant-Killer: Hot Celebrity Scandals from the Trickiest Boy In Town

giantkiller.com

 

**Back From Vacation and Back On The Beat!**

 

_Hey, kids! Jack the Giant-Killer here, back from a very hush-hush vacation with the **Avengers** , and have I got scoops for you!_

 

[shot of Black Panther and Storm, locked in a rather passionate embrace]

 

_I caught the mysterious **Black Panther** making time with this lovely lady in a secluded corner. For those of you who don't recognize the headpiece, that there is **Storm** of the **X-Men** in his arms, and don't we all wish we were her! Hot hot hot! Could there be a super-wedding in the offing? Time will tell, but I'll tell first!_

 

[shot of an upstairs hall at the Mansion, near an open bedroom door—Quicksilver and a woman in a maid's uniform are standing in the doorway, Quicksilver whispering something in her ear and smiling lasciviously. His hand is very clearly up her skirt. She is blushing, but doesn't seem at all upset about the situation.]

 

_Speaking of people getting busy in Avengers Mansion, if **Quicksilver** isn't careful he's going to have another baby mama on his hands—see the 4.23.14 post for more details about the Mutant Prince's adventures with the ladies! Let's hope the rest of the Mansion staff isn't so accomodating, or she might not even be the only one to end up with a bun in the oven!_

 

[shot of Beast, Hank Pym, Reed Richards, and Bruce Banner in the lab—Beast is trying to block the camera with his body, Hank Pym is scrambling for a fire extinguisher, and Reed and Bruce are trying with moderate success to contain _something_ on a lab table. The something is glowing brightly.]

 

_Here's a meeting of the minds! Big time super-geniuses **Hank Pym, Reed Richards, Bruce Banner,** and **Henry McCoy** (that's **Beast** to you X-Men fans) all shared one lab this Thursday. What could they be working on, and will this be the one that kills us all?_

 

[shot of apprehended super-criminals sitting on the floor in the front hall of Avengers mansion]

 

_Mug shots get a taste of true evil with Saturday's big arrest—check out this crowd of baddies in custody. Yes, kids, the one in green is the notorious **Dr. Doom** , ruler of Latveria. The hot little number on his left is **Amora the Enchantress** , his new gal pal and Avenger **Thor's** ex-flame! Rumor has it that mutant meanie **Magneto** was spotted but not taken into official custody—what could be going on there?_

 

[graphic: STOP THE PRESSES!]

 

_Now that the juicy news is out of the way, though, I've got something new and exciting to talk to you about: religion!_

 

_Oh, don't look at me like that. It'll be fun!_

 

_So, Jesus got you down? Buddha cramping your style? Can't stand another minute of misery and self-hate? Well, I've got the answer to all your troubles: why not try some of that **really** old-time religion? Ditch church on Sunday and worship **Loki!**_

 

[shot of the Loki's face from the nose down—he is grinning hugely]

 

_He may be a supervillain, but my man Loki's still a party god. He doesn't want you to be perfect, to feel bad, or to ditch everything that makes life fun. In fact, he just wants you to have a good time, and to make a mess while you're at it! Check out that winning smile, kids: would he lie to you?_

 

_Answer: of course he would, and he wants you to lie right back!_

 

[grainy self-shot of Bobby's face from the nose down—tongue stuck out to show silver stud]

 

_How do I get in on this sexy, sexy new religion, you ask? It's simple! Get your tongue pierced (silver studs only!) and go make some trouble! Kiss the quarterback's hot girlfriend. Steal a car. Start a fight. Just say “Hail Loki!” when you do it and he'll hear you. He wants you to have fun, folks—go make it happen! If you're messy enough you might even get a visit from **the man himself—** how many Christians can say that? (But if you don't keep your hands to yourself you'll be getting a visit from **me** next!)_

 

_Why am I mentioning this now, you ask? Well, kids, here's the straight dope: I can't keep doing this full-time. I've got places to go, people to see, homework to do—that's right, your humble Giant-Killer is heading back to school, to plumb the ivied halls of academia for some real scandals. But don't pout! Don't cry! This just means I'm opening up for **submissions!**_

 

[graphic: SUBMIT, BITCHES]

 

_Got a juicy rumor? Shot a scandalous candid? Found a secret celebrity love nest? (We all love those!) Write it up and send it to me at[jack@giantkiller.com](mailto:jack@giantkiller.com) with the subject line “Hail, Loki” and your contact info. I want the lowdown, I've got the cash to pay for it, and you get your name (or exciting pseudonym) in lights!_

 

_So hit the streets, cause some chaos, and dig up some dirt!_

 

_Hail, Loki!_

 

\--

 

_Ten and a half months later..._

 

_“Incoming police band message, sir.”_

Tony winced briefly as the police band transmitter crackled to life next to his left ear and then listened closely to the message as he soared over New York City.

“--unidentified super-powered criminal on Wall Street, please assist. I repeat, we have an unidentified super-powered criminal active in the Wall Street area, requesting assistance from any nearby Avengers, can you hear me, over?”

“Reading you loud and clear, Officer,” Tony said, and heard Steve and Danvers chime in similarly as he veered towards Wall Street. “Iron Man on the way. What's the description? Maybe we know them. Over.”

“He's wearing a tuxedo and one of those _V For Vendetta_ masks, and some really obnoxious sunglasses. And little green booties, which is kinda weird. Says his name is Discord. Over.”

“Captain Marvel on the way. What's he up to, over?” A red and yellow flash was Danvers, dropping into a steep dive three blocks down and heading for what looked like a crowd of living Keith Haring paintings, which were heading down the street and overturning parked cars.

“Living graffiti, ma'am, and he's released some kind of hallucinogenic gas into the Stock Exchange, over.”

“Captain America on the way. Iron Man, biohazard tactics, on the double.”

“Sounds like my kind of party.” Tony veered again to head for the Stock Exchange building. “I'll take the gas, you guys take the goons.”

It was the work of fifteen minutes or so for Tony to locate the gas emitter, disable it, and help the gas-masked emergency responders evacuate the building. On the comms he could hear Steve and Danvers grunting as they fought the graffiti monsters, and in the background, the faint sounds of hysterical laughter, presumably from their super-criminal. _Like we really need_ another _crazy running around New York._

He shooed the last delirious stockbroker out of the emergency exit and zipped around to the front just in time to see Steve take out the one of the last graffiti monsters. Nearby, Danvers downed another one and then darted abruptly between two buildings. There was a startled shout, and she emerged again triumphant, holding their tuxedoed crazy upside-down by one ankle. “Hey hey hey watch the suit! This thing is custom-tailored!”

The voice sounded...familiar. Frowning, Tony flew in closer to peer at their new super-criminal and groaned when he saw an unpleasantly recognizable shock of multi-colored hair hanging down past the Guy Fawkes mask. His suspicions were confirmed when the super-criminal, still dangling from Danvers' grip, raised a hand to wave at him. “Hi, Mr. Stark! Long time no see!”

“Goddammit.” Tony slowed down to hover next to Danvers and her captive, reached over to pull off the mask and irritating sunglasses. “Where's my arc reactor, you little bastard?”

Danvers frowned. “You know this guy, Stark?”

“Wish I didn't, but I do. Where's my arc reactor?”

Behind him the last graffiti monster exploded into what looked like a cloud of spray paint and Steve ran over to them, frowning when he saw who Danvers had captured. “Bobby, I'm disappointed in you.”

Bobby grinned as amiably as he could while upside-down. “Really, Cap? You actually didn't see this coming? Also, I'm in costume, it's Discord.”

Tony raised the faceplate on his helmet and sighed. “So, Danvers, remember the kid we told you about? Loki's priest, the one who stole a bunch of stuff from the Mansion a few months back?”

Danvers blinked, lifting her captive to peer at him more closely. “ _This_ is the guy who got past Black Panther's defenses?”

“I do all that I do in the service of my god.”

“Shut up, Bobby. Anyway, you're only half right. _Storm_ got past Black Panther's defenses. The little shit here just took advantage of the distraction. Where's my arc reactor, Bobby?”

Bobby shrugged. “Couldn't really tell you. Seriously, though, it's Discord.”

“Oh, bull—”

“We gave it to Odin, I think he might have had it put on a necklace for Frigga or something.”

Steve gave a long sigh. “Young man, we're going to have a long talk about your criminal tendencies once we're back at the holding cells.”

“Oh, because _that_ sounds fun.”

“Don't sass me. And then we're going to get you on the phone with your cousin, she went into labor this morning and Clint said she wanted to get in touch with you.”

At that point one of the police officers on the scene walked over to find out what was going on, and all three superheroes made the mistake of taking their eyes off Bobby for a moment. There was a faint thump of displaced air, and Danvers shouted, startled. “He teleported!”

Tony scowled and looked around for where their erstwhile captive might have gotten to. “Shit, I forgot about that.”

A flash of movement caught his eye, and he looked up to see Bobby, mask on top of his head, standing on top of a nearby building. The younger man waved. “I'd love to stay and chat, guys, but I have a paper due tomorrow and I've gotta get on it! I promise I'll call Shelly! See you later!”

Before they could say anything, he rocketed off, apparently held in the air by his little green boots. Tony dropped his faceplate and got ready to chase after him, but before he'd gotten a block the figure he pursued disappeared completely. Tony returned to his companions, scowling darkly. “Great. Just great.”

 

\--

 

Hoodies weren't a great look on Clint, but he'd had to wear one anyway; he didn't want to worry about getting mobbed by fans who thought he was some action star, and with his usual sunglasses on and his hood up nobody really recognized him. The waiting was agony. He wasn't sure how other people ever managed to do this, just sitting around in hospitals waiting for shit to happen. Especially with the terrible magazine selection. A guy could only read so many issues of _Sports Illustrated_ , and it was even worse when it was some alternate-dimension version without any sports stars he recognized. He didn't know who this Brady character was, but Flash Thompson he definitely wasn't.

A nurse came over to him, and he looked up into a kind smile and an, “Are you the father?”

“Uh, yeah. Well, I'm the, uh...”

“Their donor.”

“Yeah.” He glanced down at his unread magazine. “I'm that.”

“They asked me to come get you. They're very sweet. You must be very good friends.”

“Yeah, sort of—”

“Would you like to come meet your son?”

He stared at the nurse for a moment, mouth working, and then got to his feet so quickly that he almost knocked over the chair. “Yeah. Yeah, I would.”

In the room, he stared at the tiny, red-faced baby resting on Shelly's chest with something that could have been disbelief but felt more like combat anxiety. For a long moment he couldn't say anything, and they didn't say anything, and then Carol, who was sitting next to the bed looking underslept and dirty, said, “His name is Merlin. Merlin Anthony Baker.”

He frowned, puzzled. “Merlin? Like the wizard?”

“A merlin is also a kind of hawk.”

“Oh. Right. Yeah.” He started to smile. “He's so tiny.”

Shelly giggled, sounding exhausted. “You wouldn't say that if you were the one who had to shove him out.”

“Yeah, I, uh, I heard the shouting.” Clint took a step closer, pulling down his sunglasses and leaning in to get a better look. “Looks like he got my eyes. Bet he'll have good aim.”

“I bet he will.” Abruptly Carol stood and hugged him. “Thank you, Clint. This really means a lot to us.”

He hugged her back, feeling desperately awkward. “Hey, no problem, short stack. Least I could do, right? After all you two did for us. I'll try to come visit once in a while, see how the kid's doing.”

Shelly yawned. “You'll always be my favorite Avenger, Clint.” In her arms the baby let out an irritated grunting noise, and she glanced down. “Now shoo. Merlin has to eat, and then I think I'm going to sleep for a week.”

Carol bent down to kiss Shelly on the forehead, and then she and Clint walked out of the room together. Outside in the hall, Carol looked up at him, smiling but still looking tense. “You have to head now, right? Limited gate time?”

“Yeah. Gotta give the signal or else they'll start calling me. You guys take care, ok?”

“We will. You too. Don't get killed.”

“I always try not to.”

They hugged again, still awkward, and Carol sniffed. “We'll miss you guys.”

“Yeah, well, who knows? Maybe we'll have another crisis and need you again.”

“I can always hope.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for special features, next chapter!


	10. Deleted Scenes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deleted scenes! Hooray!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, DangerousCommieSubversive here, having recovered from my temporary case of death by mercenary. These two scenes were ones that I considered including in the story, but which didn't really fit with the flow as it stood. Then I wrote them anyway. The first is a gift for my new friend [Ook](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ook/profile), who requested it. ^_^ The second is less about comedy and more about feels, but I'm pleased with it.
> 
> Enjoy!

Villains Can Read Fanfiction, Too

 

 _Why_ did he tell them about the fanfiction?

Taskmaster liked to think of himself as a fairly sane and sensible man. He ate well, didn't drink _too_ much, exercised regularly, charged exorbitant fees for his services, used protection, and generally lived the best life he possibly could for an internationally wanted criminal. Sane and sensible, right? But then the Asgardian woman had offered him his own goddamn weight in gold bars to help her out with this invasion thing—gold bars! Like they were nothing!—and he'd _had_ to say yes. Even though he _knew_ it was all going to go south. _So_ south. Possibly to the South _Pole._

Goddamn Amora and her posse of evil boyfriends. They'd been so insistent, they had to know _everything_ about his little recon trip, everything he'd talked about with the guy who ran that comic shop. After he'd gotten the rest of the comics away from Red Skull they'd started the asking, and he was getting paid to answer their questions, so he'd told them about action figures. Television shows. Collectible statues. Comics conventions, cosplay, the Rules of the Internet, letters columns.

And fanfiction.

He should never have told them about the fanfiction. None of these assholes knew how to let a thing lie.

After he'd told them what it was—and once Amora had come to grips with the basic workings of computers and the Internet—they'd said they wanted to know more. No dice, he'd said, that was all he'd gotten about the stuff, which was only half a lie. But they'd insisted, and so Dr. Sterns had fired up his prototype gate and anchored it to a closed Internet cafe in what looked to Taskmaster like Milwaukee. Why Milwaukee? Who fucking knew? Maybe Sterns was from there.

Everyone picked a computer. They got a goon to type for Amora. Another goon—Amora's cook, Taskmaster remembered—got the coffee maker started.

And Taskmaster told them the website names that the comic shop guy had given him—Fanfiction.net and Archive Of Our Own.

There was silence for about ten minutes as his employers (and Wade, who'd been talking nonstop) began to Google themselves. Having no interest in his own Google results, Taskmaster occupied the time by watching Doom type with his gauntlets on. It was _fascinating._

“Holy shit it's _me!_ But what I _used_ to look like before stuff! I should look this Reynolds guy up holy _shit_ Tasky! In this universe I used to be married to Black Widow! I bet she looked nice in her dress. I bet she looked nice _out_ of her dress. And I have fans, and everyone thinks I'm funny, and...”

The resounding silence of Deadpool at a loss for words was so shocking that everyone turned around to look. Wade was staring at the screen of his computer, trembling. Taskmaster realized with a start that the guy's mask was _wet_ around the eyes. Was the litte freak _crying?_

The silence stretched out. It was delicate, it was crystalline, it was the most total silence in the world as they all waited to find out what, of all things, could have shut Deadpool up.

“Tasky...”

“Yeah, Wade?”

“Tasky, I'm an _Internet meme._ ”

Oh god. “That a fact?”

“This is the happiest day of my _entire life._ ”

“Good for you, Wade.” It was almost sweet, seeing the guy get so choked up about this. Like a kid getting a puppy.

Then, of course, he started singing, and that ruined the moment. The others all turned back to their computers, serenaded by the dulcet strains of Deadpool's off-key and extremely loud rendition of “Happy Happy Joy Joy.”

After that Taskmaster's employers really set to with the fanfiction websites, and they started finding the mature content warnings. Specifically Amora found one, clicked through anyway, read for a few minutes, and then let out a piercing shriek. “The impertinence! They...I...and with _Loki,_ no less! The cheek of them!” She swooned dramatically and was caught in one plated arm by Doom while her typing goon got her some coffee and a cold cloth for her forehead. “Victor dear, these people, they...I am a great enchantress and a citizen of Asgard! When we take over I will have the writer of this story flogged! The peons must not treat me like a whore and a joke.”

Doom lifted her effortlessly back into her chair and said, “Then do not behave like one, my Enchantress.”

Magneto covered a smirk as Amora stiffened and turned red. “I have _never._ I. Ooh!” She jerked her arm away from Doom's grip and took a deep breath as her typing goon mopped her brow. “I. Taskmaster dear, aren't _you_ offended by the filth these commoners write?”

Taskmaster shrugged. “Nah, not really. It's nice to know that they give a shit.”

Affronted, Amora sniffed, stood so quickly that she knocked her chair over, and marched back through the portal, chin held high. Her typing goon hurried along behind her, carrying her mug of coffee. Dr. Sterns muttered something about the flightiness of rich women, and they all turned back to their computers.

After a few more minutes Doom made an almost-surprised 'hmm' noise. “This is...Strange.”

Nearby the Red Skull snorted. “Strange? It's disgusting.”

“That was not the manner intended, half-wit.” Doom gestured to his computer screen. “This story, it is a tale of Doom and Dr. Strange. A romantic one. The man is competent, yes, but no fit consort for a _ruler._ ” There was a pause. “Also, Doom does not approve of his facial hair. A man should wear a full beard or none at all. To grow only half a beard is indecisive and shows weakness of character.”

There was a moment's stunned silence, which Dr. Sterns broke by commenting, “I don't seem to be in _any_ of these.”

Taskmaster cleared his throat, trying to resist the urge to laugh at Doom. “Yeah, well, you're not very popular.”

“Hmph. Well, if there's nothing for me to see here then I have work I could be doing.”

Sterns left. Taskmaster noted with some amusement that despite not being very tall, he had to duck to fit his enormous head through the gate. Now, though, it was down to him, Deadpool (still singing, but quieter—he'd moved on to the theme from _Happy Days_ ), Magneto, and the Red Skull. The Skull was just looking angrier and angrier as he surfed the web, but wasn't saying anything. He was probably planning a new and improved concentration camp for fanfiction authors.

Magneto, on the other hand, looked positively amused. He had open at least ten tabs of fanfiction, and was apparently looking up fanart as well. The picture he had up on the screen when Taskmaster moved over to take a look was of two suprisingly good-looking young men with their arms wrapped around each other. The older man chuckled indulgently when he saw that Taskmaster was looking. “Charles _was_ a rather handsome young man, wasn't he? Not that we ever...well. I suppose it's not an unfair assumption to make; we were once very close.” He closed the tab of pictures, opened up one of the fiction tabs, and read for a moment. “I do wonder, though, if the young lady who wrote this has ever _seen_ Charles in full Romeo mode. He nearly fainted from joy when he heard about the Pill. Once he tried to pull an entire women's a cappella chorus, and I had to wade in to save him from their boyfriends. When I said that _I_ might be interested, he just blinked and asked if I'd been drinking.”

There was a long pause. Deadpool even stopped singing, and after a few unbearable seconds said, “Well? Had you?”

Magneto stared into the air contemplatively. “Hm. Perhaps a bit. But it didn't make my point any less valid.”

The Red Skull quietly put his fist through the screen of his computer and stormed out.

“Ok, ok, ok, I wanna know who this Cable guy is and when I get to meet him.” Deadpool wriggled in his seat, his katanas clacking against the back of his chair. “I'm so excited! It's like an arranged marriage, but with murder!”

Taskmaster shuddered. “Shit, you get a sidekick? I don't think the world can take more than one of you.”

“Even better! According to this picture I get a Terminator robot!” A few more clicks, and then, “Ooh, check it out, Tasky, _you're_ in this one!” The other mercenary stood, grabbed his arm, and hauled him over to the computer.

He dragged his heels as hard as he could. “Yeah, of course I'm in a picture with you, Wade. We've worked together.”

“Nope! A story! Here, look! Look look look!”

Curious in spite of himself, Taskmaster started reading the story on the screen and then reared back. “Whoa, ok, _now_ I'm offended. I'd like to think I have better taste than _that._ ”

“Aw, Tasky, don't you love me anymore?”

“I never loved you, Wade. And definitely not _that_ much.”

 

\--

 

Shelly & Clint Watch _Batman_

 

Following the attack on Shelly's _Guys and Dolls_ and her tearful arrival home, the Avengers had decided that it would be a good idea to provide them with some kind of guard detail. There wasn't any hard evidence that Shelly had been targeted specifically, they'd reasoned, but if Amora and the others knew about Bobby, then it wasn't unreasonable to think that they might know about his cousin and her girlfriend, who had, after all, been much more closely involved in the original dimension-hopping debacle. If the women were targeted, they'd have protection; if not, then they'd be fine anyway. It never hurt to be safe, as Steve was always saying.

The problem had become one of who to assign, and the duty had fallen to Clint, who liked Carol and Shelly (and didn't like Bobby, who seemed to be all _over_ the Mansion). This was why he was now, at two-thirty in the morning, perched on the couch in their living room, drinking soda and watching _Batman._ Carol had set him up with what she said was a best-of stack of Batman comics, but at the late hour the movie was easier to concentrate on, and Clint _did_ love Jack Nicholson.

A shuffling sound from the kitchen had his hand going for his bow, but he relaxed when he saw that it was only Shelly, barefoot in a sleep shirt and a paisley bathrobe with her sleep-mussed hair making a coppery cloud around her head. He raised his can of soda in greeting and paused the movie. “Hey, Shel. Couldn't sleep?”

“Jet lag.” She rubbed a hand over her face, groaning. “The three-hour time difference always does me in. I caught a few, but it's still midnight in New York. If we were there I wouldn't be going to bed for another hour and a half. What are you watching?”

“ _Batman._ I can't get enough of this guy, he's amazing. It sucks that he's not real.”

“He might be. In a different universe. Who fucking knows at this point?” She looked muzzily around the kitchen. “Mind if I join you? I can make us some popcorn.”

He grinned and took another swig of soda. “I always love company.”

Shelly dug out a bag of microwave popcorn, popped it, and dumped it into a huge bowl before moving into the living room. Clint shifted down so that he wasn't taking up the middle of the couch. “Siddown, Princess. Your throne awaits.”

She giggled. “Princess? You sound like my _dad._ ”

“With your hair all messed up you look like the princess from _Brave._ ” He turned the movie back on. “Seriously, how do you two manage to sleep together without getting your curls all twisted up? You must spend at least half an hour every morning getting untangled.”

She giggled again, but rather more rudely. “ _Now_ you're just fishing for sexy bedtime stories.”

“Hey, I am what I am.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her, and when she threw a piece of popcorn at him he caught it in his mouth, which made her laugh yet again.

They sat watching the movie in companionable silence for a while, occasionally commenting when something particularly absurd or ridiculous happened. The first bowl of popcorn ran through pretty quickly, and when Shelly got up to make another she also grabbed a soda for herself and another for Clint. When she took the first glug of her soda she winced, and Clint frowned, peering closer. There were finger-shaped bruises on the side of her neck.

She noticed him looking and looked away, covering her throat with her hand. He frowned and batted her hand away lightly. “Don't rub at it. Only makes it worse, I promise. Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I...” She stared down at her paisley-covered knees. “He showed up right on stage, in the middle of the number. I don't think he really knew where he was. He grabbed me. I think it was just because I was closest.”

He nodded. “Yeah, they do that sometimes. Did he say anything?”

“I don't really remember. Everyone was screaming. He had a gun.”

“Yeah, Robbins generally does, he's an asshole like that. I heard you stepped on his foot.”

She smiled weakly. “All I could think of was _Miss Congeniality._ 'Always remember to sing.' And I had on these high heels for the number, these awful stilettos. So I stomped as hard as I could.”

He hissed. “Ooh, ow. Bet you broke a few bones. Did he let go?”

In the background the Joker stepped into Vicki Vale's apartment, and Shelly nodded. “Pretty quickly. I almost fell over.”

“Was that when you kicked him in the nuts?”

“ _Oh_ yeah. Soon as I had my balance. He actually started crying. He _ran_ for the gate. It was just...” She trailed off.

“It's scary.” He grabbed a handful of popcorn. “I mean, I'm used to dealing with dicks like him, but the first few times I was actually in a live combat situation sucked.”

“Yeah. Scary.”

After a moment she edged over on the couch and leaned against his shoulder. He ruffled her hair. “Deep breaths, Coppertop. Everything's gonna be fine. You and your girl ok otherwise? All quiet on the Carol front?”

A long sigh. “Yeah, mostly. It's just...we fight sometimes, y'know? About...stuff. It's really _nice_ being with her, it feels like, like _home,_ but there's some stuff that's...harder.”

“Mm?” With a mouthful of popcorn he couldn't really say anything more.

“I want kids. Or, well, a kid, before I'm thirty. So I can have the baby before I hit those sort of prime acting years, because I don't want to give that up.”

“Right, I remember Carol mentioning that when she was on the phone with Loki.” He wrinkled his nose. “Apparently he wanted to do something to her?”

“He offered to turn her into a guy so she could get me pregnant.” Shelly shuddered. “I don't _want_ a guy Carol. I like her just like she is. And adopting is still really hard, especially given how much we both move around and that we're not actually _married_ yet, and there's artificial, but then it's also some stranger's baby. Not just ours. I know it works for some people, but I...I can't.”

“That is tough.” He reached for more popcorn. “Sometimes I think I'd like to be a dad, but I couldn't do that to a kid, living like I do. And Tasha, well...she's great, but she's not mom material.”

He heard a strange snorting noise, and looking down to see that Shelly had her hand over her mouth in a clearly futile attempt to stifle laughter. “Oh my god, I'm sorry, that does suck, it's just that I just pictured her singing 'Itsy Bitsy Spider', but she was doing it in a monotone like how she talks when she's pissed and it's _amazing._ ”

He bit off a bark of laughter. “Ok, for that, for that you get noogies.”

“Oh, shit, no!”

It was lucky that the popcorn was on the table, because otherwise it would have ended up all over the floor as Shelly ducked away from him, trying in laughing desperation to avoid a headlock that he put her in anyway. By the time she wiggled out of his grip he'd _really_ messed up her hair, and in retaliation she shoved her hand deep into the popcorn and then reached up to smear artificial microwave popcorn butter on his nose. She was laughing, too, pink and out of breath and looking very happy, and for a moment Clint stared down at her and she stared up at him and they realized, for a moment, something that had to be a might-have-been of a might-have-been. If they hadn't been from two different universes. If he wasn't a highly-trained assassin and she wasn't dating another woman. If things had been different.

It could have been nice.

But it wasn't ever going to happen. So instead he tipped her off the couch, and she landed on the floor with a thump. “Oh, you _jerk!_ You know what, just for that, you're not my favorite Avenger anymore.”

“Oh, you totally—” He stopped, realizing what she'd just said. “Hey, wait, I'm your favorite?”

She folded her arms over her chest and stuck her nose in the air. “You _were_ my favorite, but you bumped me off the couch, so now you're not. I'm just going to be a Captain America fan now.”

“Wait! No! I have to be somebody's favorite! I apologize for bumping you off the couch! Am I your favorite again?”

“Hm.” She picked herself up and resumed her spot. “Go get me an ice cream sandwich and I'll consider it.”

“Shit, there's ice cream? I didn't know there was ice cream!”

He got up and got ice cream sandwiches for both of them, and she grudgingly forgave him and said he was her favorite again as Batman fought the Joker on top of a church. The scene had a worrying feeling of finality to it, and after a minute he realized that it was actually the end of the movie. “Shit. I didn't mean to miss so much of it. I was actually having fun.”

“You can always borrow it. Take that one and _Batman Returns_ and watch them, and tomorrow we should watch _Batman Forever_ , that one's my favorite. Carol says I'm a heretic.”

“Maybe it's true. Heretic.”

“I swear I'll dump the popcorn in your hair.”

“Not if I dump it in yours first.”

“Oh, don't you _dare._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. ^_^ There is another story on the way, but it's not quite finished--be prepared for a time skip of about ten years.


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